I often have dreams. I dream so clearly that I can feel touch and smell things I see in my sleep. Some nights I’m picking corn in a endless waving field of fall corn while the sun goes down glowing that neon pink wearing nothing and feeling so lost in the wind hair twirling that sweet grassy smell all warm and peaceful. Other nights I’m locked in a red wooden crate watching someone through a crack in the box prepare a tank of embalming fluid a dark rubber apron stained in layers of bloody souls. I watch with that heightened awareness, the smell of feomeldehyde stinking my eyes, heart racing my eyes warm in tears. I can’t see his face no matter how many times I see him prepare my table for a live preservation ritual I can’t see his face. As he turns towards the box his shadow steals the wee crack of light that smell of beer like a avalanche covers me, Awake!

I wake most days hungover from the medications I have to take several kinds a day around the clock morning to bedtime of anti- psychotics that keep the visions and voices calm. I can sleep for 12 hours and wake exhausted from living in my dreams. Last night I was with a dear friend in a room filled to the ceiling with knives. We stood side by side chatting packing boxes and boxes of knives happily. It was very soothing the act of constant repatition. This might seem out there but I saw my babies faces, blurry yet recognizable only weeks into my pregnancies, cool! I wish at times I could just be labotimized and live in numb ignorant bliss. Just silence between my ears removing the forever hum of white static noise, don’t listen..

don’t listen..

Shhhhhhhhhhhhh!!

Don’t listen!

Shhhhhhhhhhhh!

What?

What?

What?

Shhhhhh!

Don’t listen or it will take the wheel.

Silence!

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