mundane treasures, things that are sweet, daydreams, nightdreams, musings, and love stories.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Lately I'm dreaming of places where I knew photographs once were. I scratch my fingers on the wall where I know the frame resides, feel nothing, and I keep scratching. In waking it doesn't end. My actions scare me, and render me worthless. I allow myself to be disposable. I run away from the ghosts on the street, and in the night run naked to their beds. The bridge of my nose is cut and bruised from cement, and I look at it in the mirror thinking I deserve as much. In a few days the bruise will be yellow and I will be naked in bed again, longing for someone to have the patience to love me.
Ignore the calls in the middle of the night and see me clothed in daylight.