“Dreams are often most profound when they seem the most crazy.” – Sigmund Freud
Dylan yawned, leaned back in his chair. It was another late night at the Nightmare Center, but at least he was collecting overtime. The entire year had been full of late nights, for obvious reasons. The election had peoples’ unconscious selves falling apart at the seams.
“Still here?” Amari asked, bags under her eyes.
“Unfortunately,” Dylan said. “I’m working a double.”
“It never ends.”
watching from the fire escape
I breathe in daylight, fresh air
a blue jay lands in a dead garden
her colors brilliant & offensive
dried leaves rustling like
an urge to suck in colors before me
& vomit them back out
like the Destroyer God who
crushes galaxies in his hands
(Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash)
lapping waves on the shores of hell
over expanse of red clay & dust
on another planet
black buzzards circle above
pick at bloated corpses –
The woman sits at the window
she’s always there, she stares
at the outside world
her sallow skin a testament to an indoor existence
terrified to leave the ivy-covered house like
a cat that fears and is fascinated by the outdoors.
I dream of criminals, being a witness to misdeed
men with dark eyes do dark things in motel rooms
tell me to keep my mouth zippered shut –
I wake with a sense of dread
storm clouds gather outside frosted windows
a woman with an umbrella screams
then runs for her life.
(Photo by Lacie Slezak on Unsplash)
I want to trace my family’s history,
go back + find out how we got here –
there was a suicide in the ‘70s, a wound
we carry but do not discuss –
secrets hide in the shadows
+ who knows how they affect us.
Satan rebels and fallen angels follow him
to the underworld – wings clipped, eyes ablaze
with red like the demons they are.
Stand atop this holy hillside and survey the city –
if you are the Messiah, then prove it.
The Witch Queen nurses you to health and assures you
she means no harm – the people fear her because she’s
ageless and has wandered these woods for centuries,
speaking with wild animals and traversing the dark
landscape, looking for lost travelers.
She tends to their wounds, offers medicine in her hut,
then devours them in sexual ecstasy like they’ve
never experienced before. They all leave feeling better –
the Witch Queen is your friend, not your enemy.
(Photo by Miriam Espacio on Unsplash)
Note: This poem was inspired by a character in Old Gods of Appalachia, a horror anthology podcast that I’m currently obsessed with.
It’s 6:48 am and I am walking onto a bus
We are no longer able to be alone
The government has deemed we must stay together
This is my first day on the bus – I thought I would be on it longer
My start time is at 11:42 am
As I am ushered off the bus after twenty-five minutes
I am given directions on my phone and told to stay with the group
I must plan my escape, I must be alone