7:46 PM
Thinking, “I’m finally old enough for you to love me.” But I loved you last week and now it is your turn to donate your spine to my on-going game of double dutch that I play with my perfect people. I hold you dear and near in my fists clenched around your throat. I’m laughing at your jokes but my eyes are filled with your screams. So go go, be estranged as I sit and wallow in self pity, praying an intensive two hours will fix me, cure me. We’re fighting the inviting: oncoming traffic, overpasses, and golden, brick, bridges. We think and we understand, you suffer from the absence of such practices. Really all I ache to do is put down, just right, these dreams I’ve been having. To tell you the tale of the swerving headlights, icy or wet roads, and the water as it suffocates me. Luminous translucent hands reaching, gripping around my throat and down into my esophagus, creating a pit of silence. Strangled.
I can see the bridge in the distance, calmly approaching as I glide into the right hand lane. Windshield wipers thrash viciously, pushing the water to the side, allowing me to see more visibly. The car is filled with smoke as the butt flits onto my thigh, I veer left—right. I cannot locate it and fear wells within me as I look to the papers scattered across the seats, floors. Thin black ink, short lines, paragraphs, crumpled and thrown away. Never good enough. I see one light, I am mesmerized by how quickly they all catch. I look up to the road and momentarily I can take in how the road looks, caked in black ice, as the railing approaches my headlights. The guitar riffs float to my ears, muffling the sound of screeching tires. Can I graduate? In slow motion the lights fade away and the asphalt cannot save me. The nose tips over the edge and leisurely approaches the ink stained liquid. The wild fire is the least of my worries, the car is breaking through the calm surface and all at once I’m thrust into real time. The car rapidly fills with murky water, the flame ceases, and my vision goes blank.
The words are never quite right, the vision never quite clear, and the dreams are lost in the unconscious parts of my mind that words cannot grasp onto. I am lost.



