The cold of dusk lacerates my open eyes.
And for the longest time
I have been remote from the world.
Names and faces are escape artists.
I am the confinement.
I don't always win.
Except when i am mixed and molded and bolted in.
Still, dreams escape me best.
Yet tonight was different.
As soon as,
They race against each other, these contrived breaths.
Whatís even more is the fact that
I dreamt everything was a lie.
Iím a sucker for promises.
Trust is suicide.
I dreamt you chose someone over someone else.
Elsa or Elsie. That shouldíve been my name.
I dreamt I was left to be alone now.
I am not used to that.
The post-depression devil was right.
What we had was a dreamerís last pas de deux
And that I
Really never should have tried oxygen or anything like it.
Because I knew I would like it.
I didnít know I would like you.
Love makes the prettiest marshmallows out of igneous rocks.
It tolerates you to sleep on the truth.
Come to think of it
I donít remember waking up.
...And I thought my brother was the biggest bitch Iíd ever encounter.
Good Morning, Miss Conceptions.