there is sleep still resting in my bones, and the morning gruff wakens me with her timely beeps. the monolithic dreams that are remembered no more, lay dormant at my bedside manor, content on lying still. they are furtive, afraid of consciousness and turn sideways in the light so I am unable to see their face.
the darkness here is thick and heavy. it is pungent and all around. it pants in my face as it breathes down my throat and the ignorance of bliss eats holes in my skin. this city, now a prisoner of my shadows, pretends to love with the shading sun. her lies are effusive, masking my reality, beading illusion to illusion as my heart breaks open one last time.
photo: tara baden