I know they are only dreams, but dayem
Oct. 6th, 2003 12:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thedarksiren2I haven't been remembering my dreams as much as I used to. This bothers me, as it was the perfect escape for me, and while I was resting no less!
I bitched and moaned a bit to my psyche over the past week, and well, she delivered a doozer last night.
It was the warehouse, one of those familiar places in my dreams, but not a particularly *happy* place. Sitting Indian-style on the dirty old mattress in the middle of the place, my head down, hair black, still short but more choppy. Chris Borchik (my ex) is walking counter-clockwise, watching me, smoking a cigarette in a very overbearing way. The smoke trails downwards in a spiral toward my eyes, which are as black as my hair. They sting, and I rub them, feeling like a four-year-old with sleepy-sand in my eyes. I look up, my eyebrows furrowed and a big pout on my blood-red lips as I see him standing above me.
The air is so cold, filled with must and decay. I feel something drip on my leg and when I look down, it is blood from my lower lip, which I have been chewing on nervously. I lift an edge of the skirt I am wearing and wipe it off, but my lip is dripping more and more. I realize I am wearing a skirt I haven't had in five or six years, and find myself nostalgic for it, admiring the tears and little glints of gold throughout it. Chris sniffles, takes another drag off his cigarette. The view is now from above, focused in on his upper-body and face. His eyes are so critical, his face very pale and lifeless.
Suddenly there is a crowd walking around him. I think the warehouse was filling for a rave, although the crowd seemed a bit older than the usual raver crowd. I stayed seated on the mattress, and the party was built around me. I found myself incredibly amused and began laughing, my mouth wide-open and laughing, blood dripping down my chin.
Chris scowled at me, "Quit it, Dawn! You'll ruin everything! You ALWAYS ruin EVERYTHING!"
"Ha! ha!" I taunted him, wiping blood from my mouth onto my sleeves."This is what fun is, and you can't do a fucking thing about it!" I stood up on the mattress, but it began to tilt back and forth, as though it were balanced on something. I put my arms out trying to steady myself, and he began laughing back.
"You dumb, needy bitch," he threw at me. I spat in his face, and as he tried to climb up on the mattress to get me, the lights shifted into a disco-mirrored frenzy. He reached, I stepped back, lost my balance and fell over the edge.
It felt like I was falling for centuries, watching time pass me by like geese in winter transit. My skirt flowed in a most lovely way, and for a moment I swore small, bioluminescent fish inhabited its layers. I looked up to see Chris far above me, as if looking up from the bottom of a well, his face framed by a circle. I watched the glow of his cigarette from afar, and wondered if my hair was flammable as he threw it down toward me. I was still travelling, however, so I didn't worry too much.
The rave went on in the warehouse, people indulged in drugs and sex, pushing Chris out of their way. He got pissed-off and pushed a guy out of his way. The guy turned and pushed him back. I could hear Chris' jaw crack from a hundred miles below sea-level, and ran my tongue across my bloody lip, playing with the small bump that had formed from my nibbling in the first place.
I bitched and moaned a bit to my psyche over the past week, and well, she delivered a doozer last night.
It was the warehouse, one of those familiar places in my dreams, but not a particularly *happy* place. Sitting Indian-style on the dirty old mattress in the middle of the place, my head down, hair black, still short but more choppy. Chris Borchik (my ex) is walking counter-clockwise, watching me, smoking a cigarette in a very overbearing way. The smoke trails downwards in a spiral toward my eyes, which are as black as my hair. They sting, and I rub them, feeling like a four-year-old with sleepy-sand in my eyes. I look up, my eyebrows furrowed and a big pout on my blood-red lips as I see him standing above me.
The air is so cold, filled with must and decay. I feel something drip on my leg and when I look down, it is blood from my lower lip, which I have been chewing on nervously. I lift an edge of the skirt I am wearing and wipe it off, but my lip is dripping more and more. I realize I am wearing a skirt I haven't had in five or six years, and find myself nostalgic for it, admiring the tears and little glints of gold throughout it. Chris sniffles, takes another drag off his cigarette. The view is now from above, focused in on his upper-body and face. His eyes are so critical, his face very pale and lifeless.
Suddenly there is a crowd walking around him. I think the warehouse was filling for a rave, although the crowd seemed a bit older than the usual raver crowd. I stayed seated on the mattress, and the party was built around me. I found myself incredibly amused and began laughing, my mouth wide-open and laughing, blood dripping down my chin.
Chris scowled at me, "Quit it, Dawn! You'll ruin everything! You ALWAYS ruin EVERYTHING!"
"Ha! ha!" I taunted him, wiping blood from my mouth onto my sleeves."This is what fun is, and you can't do a fucking thing about it!" I stood up on the mattress, but it began to tilt back and forth, as though it were balanced on something. I put my arms out trying to steady myself, and he began laughing back.
"You dumb, needy bitch," he threw at me. I spat in his face, and as he tried to climb up on the mattress to get me, the lights shifted into a disco-mirrored frenzy. He reached, I stepped back, lost my balance and fell over the edge.
It felt like I was falling for centuries, watching time pass me by like geese in winter transit. My skirt flowed in a most lovely way, and for a moment I swore small, bioluminescent fish inhabited its layers. I looked up to see Chris far above me, as if looking up from the bottom of a well, his face framed by a circle. I watched the glow of his cigarette from afar, and wondered if my hair was flammable as he threw it down toward me. I was still travelling, however, so I didn't worry too much.
The rave went on in the warehouse, people indulged in drugs and sex, pushing Chris out of their way. He got pissed-off and pushed a guy out of his way. The guy turned and pushed him back. I could hear Chris' jaw crack from a hundred miles below sea-level, and ran my tongue across my bloody lip, playing with the small bump that had formed from my nibbling in the first place.
