Nightmares

You and I are facing each other on a deserted street. It must be a little after two in the morning and the sky is a starless monochrome. The streetlights cast halos of soft light that drape gently down our faces and extend shadows on the asphalt backwards from our feet. We are close enough to run and reach out and touch each other but far enough that there is no doubt we are separate. Behind you I can see a thick fog rolling in, blanketing the buildings and the road in an opaque sheet, enveloping the world. As the fog nears your turned back, I call to you to come closer to me, away from the fog. I can hear voices all around and I turn to see people I know, or people you have mentioned, standing beside me and behind me. We are shouting out to you, in a cacophony that hurts my ears and makes my throat raw, but I can tell by your face that you cannot hear us. The fog is swirling so close to you, I can no longer see your shoes or the definite lines of your body; I can see your face as you try to hear what it is we are yelling. We are screaming now, a mob of outstretched hands, begging for you to link just a finger with one of ours, to let us anchor you and keep you safe from the dense unknown threatening to overtake you. The last thing I see as you sink into the fog, is a sad little smile, as if you do not believe that we could support the weight that is on your shoulders, that we would be brought down too.

“We are here,” we call in unison, the air has grown thick enough to touch. “We are not leaving.”

But you cannot hear us through the distance, and you cannot see us through the fog.

BB

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With a heart upon my sleeve.

typewriter

I love hard and hurt deeply;
Sometimes I have to write my mind
On a paper and burn it
To avoid bleeding to death
Internally.

BB

 

Treachery In The Evening

We are the ones who
fall asleep with our pens
still in our hands and
papers all around us
trying to scribble
a few worthy words
(a meagre offering to
the late-night gods of prose)
before sleep consumes us
and our transcendent ideas
become lost like pennies
tossed into the well
of unfulfilled wishes.

BB

Moon Child

We fell in and out of love
while the dying sun
burned complacent in
the violet summer sky.

We held our breath
as it began to set-
elegant and tragic in
its final waning breath.

The world was dark but new
and we were not afraid
instead of mourning we
became children of the moon.

BB

Warning: Fragile.

I put my hand on my chest
and I knew without looking
that my heart was broken.

I could feel the shards
rattling against my ribs
and piercing my lungs.

I coughed up your last words
bloody and shining diamonds
into the palm of my hand.

How could something that had
seemed so beautiful be
wreaking havoc on my soul?

I guess you could argue that
having a heart made of glass
was not a good idea after all.

BB

The Choices Of Our Youth

We said it was carpe diem
but really we were just
your average warmongers;
we took what we wanted
when it suited us and
did not think twice about
the bridges we incinerated
along the way.
The cost of every victory
from the battles of our youth
lie in the faces of people
we no longer know
in the ways we were certain
we always would.

BB

Nightmares Part 2

You wake in the middle of the night and the feeling (it’s called horripilation) of your hair standing on end; the sickening tremor in your chest lets you know that you are not alone. Your eyes are opened wide but you cannot see anything in the dark. You wonder if whatever is there can see you, or if you both are cloaked in the black night. Eventually you reason with yourself, since all you can hear is your own shallow, tense breathing and the creaking of the house, that this is your imagination. As you begin to fall back into slumber, you barely but unmistakably feel something brushing the stray hairs off of your forehead. The slightest movement of air in front of your face and a chill that settles within your bones. Fear and sleep fight for control and as you lose consciousness, you wonder how many times this has happened with you forgetting as soon as the dreams claim you. How often have the ghouls let you know that they are there, and that they are not going anywhere? You remember that as a child you would wake and see figures standing against the wall, and you can still feel the terror that would follow. Your last thought before you wake in the morning, is realizing some of your longest relationships have been with the shadows that cling to your covers and taste your trembling breath.

BB