Monday, February 24, 2014

Bleeding Bowls of Blood

I dreamt I had wandered down a lonely country road with Ian. Someone had set razor wire across the road and though I saw it for the mechanism of sabotage that it was, I moved forward anyway knowing
                                                                      it was going to hurt. 

Well, a few steps past my realizations and the next thing you know... 

I am bleeding bowls of blood. 

Everywhere. Simply everywhere. 

I am draining out like a broken pipe. 

The dream morphs. 

A man is holding me by the waist. He wants to get right to it. It. 

I don't know who he is.

I say, okay. But I warn you, I am bleeding

He pulls his hand away. It is covered in my blood. 

The dream morphs. 

I sit down. 

I get up. 

There is blood on my chair.

Blood simply everywhere

And I wake up.

I will not bleed for you, I say. I will not hurt for you. I will not.

But if I don't bind the wound... the wound that cuts to the bone... I die. 

If I don't admit there is a loneliness inside my soul that burns like a branding iron to my ass... I will die.

I walk tall. Taller than I actually am. 

Alone on that cliff. I take stock of what I have. All that I ever ever have had.

You are not there.

You are an empty space in a heart too wide for the likes of this common ground.

How many times have I been left alone?


I am on a mainline to the cosmic knowledge. 
The unspoken things that remain forever in the dark. 
In the tomb. 

Where the dead have all the power.

Where blood doesn't flow. 

It pools and then grows cold. 

It congeals. 

It dies.

But I am not dead.

I am very much alive. 

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