thedarksiren2: (just below transcendence)
[personal profile] thedarksiren2
Small, childish frame, I know I just saw a movie about children, but the lucidity is useless. I hide beneath the dinner table, knees close to my chest, tears staining my cheeks. Everyone eats , chewing and smacking their lips between laughter. I don't remember laughter hurting this badly, but each bout leaves me more nauseous than the last, shivering, wishing I could be at the cliff in Yorktown, listening to the waves crash below, the trees whispering their secrets. I close my eyes and try to go.

I am dreaming a dream inside a dream, coming home to an empty bed, wondering where Chris B. is for the first time every night he is gone. And there are too many nights. Nauseated, I curl into a ball beneath a dingy sheet, shivering yet too warm to close the winter out. I remember liking the cold, feeling something other than hollow and sick. My fingertips begin to bleed, and the bed is drenched in blood by the time he comes home. I pretend to sleep, because I don't want him to think I have waited for his sorry ass, yet he has the audacity to wrap his arms around me, to kiss my on the back of the neck and press his hard penis against my back. I try to ignore him, but soon we are having sex, and I am crying. His eyes are catarachs of light blue, he sees nothing but himself, like internal mirrors. I lift my arms to touch him finally, icicles forming on the small beads of sweat formed over the hairs on them. The blood has turned to ice as well, and as I run my fingers down his back, I cut him instead.

Open my eyes, everyone has left the table, I can smell food rotting above me. I push chairs out, scared, alone. I cry and begin to scream, kicking the harder, heavier chairs to move them, and begin to run. Out from under the table, out of the kitchen, through the old dusty living room...I loved my childhood home in California, but in this dream it is so cold, so empty. No beautiful, vivid memories, just dust in my lungs. I gasp for fresh air, and as I push the front door open, I trip into a parking lot. There is a bar about a 100 yards away, so I stand, wiping the dust and rocks from my knees, and walk to the door.

Inside, my friend [ profile] bigjohnsinging is sitting at a table inside. I think it's the old Akron Agora, and I can smell the big-hair hairspray-sex-musty-filth from the back room. It always smelled like that, and he took a drink from a cocktail. I ask him when he began drinking again. He tells me that he never quit. There is a woman there, and there is a show going on, but I do not recognize all the shadows, and think it is karaoke but am uncertain of my abilities to differentiate anything anymore. I fill in a sheet, and try to take my slip up but the KJ won't accept it, and he won't give me a reason. I beg with him, tell him that this is all that is left, my music...he tells me it's not mine, it never was. I tell him I have my own, and he tells me it sucks, and he won't play crap in his show.

[ profile] bigjohnsinging and his shadowy lady friend bellow with laughter behind me. I turn to see myself as a little girl, crying beneath their chairs. She looks up at me, tears falling from my eyes as I stand in the red and green lights. She waves at me, tells me, "Go!" So I run through the back room, past big hair make-out sessions, spilled beer bottles and graffiti, out the doors into blinding light.

I am suddenly standing on the cliff in Yorktown. Everything feels peaceful for the first time in a dream-lifetime. The air is warm, breezy, perfect. The skies are the most gorgeous blue, large billowy clouds float by with sea gulls whose cries are the most perfect symphony I've known in forever. I have vague rememberances of nights sleeping with the light on, wishing someone, anyone would call, because picking up the phone when you are so weak is impossible. There was too much uncertainty then. But now, now I am strong, and I take a deep breath as I finish taking off the final band aid from my fingertips, the scars almost gone. I can feel the air like heaven in my lungs, the salt cleansing my spirit one final time. I stand at the ledge, lift my arms out to hug eternity, and as I fall toward the ocean below, my eyes are wide open, my body and mind brave, challenging anyone to take this moment from me, and proving the true answer to a Bjork song.

Date: 2004-01-21 10:30 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Beautifully and eerily written...

Date: 2004-01-22 10:05 pm (UTC)

Date: 2004-01-22 04:25 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Gorgeous... I can't really formulate a full response yet, because it's so intense. But it moved me, and the language is intoxicating.

Date: 2004-01-22 10:07 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you.~8)
That means a dreams seem to be the only thing I write about anymore, so it's cool to hear that they affect others sometimes.


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