a man lies back.
he's awake again.
again.
this incessancy is, on one hand, very confusing.
"they're only nightmares," he says.
the confines of the mind are no place to question the logical massacre it produces.
"but why five times in a row?"
on the other hand, this is a bit reassuring.
"at least it's only one dream?"
the former hand weighs down to the ground.
peeling the wife beater from his salty chest, he wonders aloud if he melts in his sleep.
maybe the witch of the west is a distant relative.
feet imprinting hotel room carpet,
the bathroom glares to a shine.
"don't go into the light," he says with a smirk.
physical relief becomes a brother when your own cacophonous thought process would put you in a nuthouse if verbalized.
"i see so many things, why? it's too easy, just go away. come back sunshine, bunny rabbits and rainbows."
realization feels like Bambi's mother's famous scene sometimes.
his first hand hit the floor once more.
he showers often.
the water burns a bit at first, but keeps you alive.
the friendly nip of the terrier that is sensory extremity, this is why winter is better.
it's easier to walk outside than take a shower.
opposite nerve, hot or cold, same feeling.
the rough towel becomes the rifle that did the deed, it's hunting season all over again.
the chance at release swirls down the porcelain bowl beside the man, bland as the white it's swallowed by.
"there's always another day," he says.
"a few more hours."
he picks up a book.
more often than not, ink and paper become reality you sink into like an old couch.
moths and things you can't imagine fly your way,
yet it's all worth it.
if a picture is worth a thousand words,
what of the image painted by a thousand words?
this is life for the next few hours.
soon, dawn will break.
the man burrows into the pages, shielding his eyes from the shadows of the room.
no more can be handled tonight.
"please," he says.
"shine like the bathroom tile. let me feel the sting of your shower."
his alarm clock shines a little brighter.
Monday, August 10, 2009
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