Sometimes I wake up, and it is as if I never fell asleep. The black expanse above me has become illuminated with dazzling lights, some dim, out of reach, some gleaming bold and bright. I want to reach out and grab one, drink it in, glow from the inside.
Sipping something cool from a straw, the flavor of citrus is on my tongue. The chilled liquid glides down my throat and spreads out into all my cavities, washing over me in a wave . Next to me, strumming, his fingers slide smoothly from note to note, and I hum along, feeling not the familiar anxiety of being heard, of making too noticeable a sound. Instead I am connected to the tune of my own voice, softly perceptible over the sound of his music. Awake now, I listen to the water cascade endlessly onto the sand. I don't want to fall asleep again. All the sounds will stop.
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With nowhere to go
they slam into walls shoot recklessly here and there circling forcefully crashing together like cymbals out of sync birthing stories untold having conversations with you you'll never have with me straining against their barrier marching to the surface beating a drum like an army of vagabonds sometimes raw and restless unable to be stifled they break free unorganized yearning for nothing more than to tumble out on top of one another into the open air craving to be heard and then you stop them with your mouth smothering their release unaware you shoved them back into my skull to smash again into bone |
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