I feel the blood rushing out

From invisible wounds.

I see things, in a blur, a rush, dazed, uncollected.

Cold water rushing though my hair.

So bright I can’t see. Am I awake?

I feel your hands, running along my back.

My hands grasping my dry hair. What is happening?

Is this another haunting?

I hear you whisper into my ears,

Something that once could set me ablaze.

I reach for your lips and the brightness dims,

I see you, it’s raining, or is it the shower?

Too near to sense, too far to feel.

The water’s getting warmer but my arms are cold.

I can feel you on me but I can’t perceive your skin.

The veins in my head are bursting.

Am I drunk? Or was it the bottle of sleeping pills?

You’re something I made you become.

The phantom scars of your words and how your touch heals them; is tormenting?

Everything is abstract, or the opposite of it. I see but I don’t feel.

Where are you?

     Passing through the house, looking for clues

To where you might be, I can’t sense the cold walls but I feel the cotton sheets.

I am being haunted. By the ghosts of my memories.

They need to wake so I need to sleep.

The only way you’re here is in my dreams.



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