A far off storm
ripples through the moist
night.
Laying there,
eyes moving beneath taught lids,
my muscles tense as
a stiffness spreads like moist cobwebs
just beneath my skin.
Then, just as
an anesthetic failure on the operating table-
my eyes peel wide with silent panic,
a warm tear falls down my temple;
my tongue is cotton, and
I cannot cry out.
It's not a masked
killer, or an oily,
tentacled monster that chases me-
but the rotten seed of a plant
sewn from love and left to the frost,
many years before.
We are all each other's
nagging feelings.
They say our ears turn red
when thoughtful people remember; but
cold fright is more accurate
tale as
a shadow slithers
across my grave.
Long hours I've spent with ghosts;
judging, questioning,
continuing ill-fated affairs and
imagining unwritten romance.
All the grudges held
out of unfounded, misplaced pride
and embittered in the fires of
childish haste;
fall back, turning around
and sour only myself.
All of these things are chasing me
and every moment I lay calm,
resigned to deep dreams-
she finds me,
she hugs me,
and I wake
screaming.
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