5AM comes-
too early, and
too late.
I watch the sun’s skeletal fingers
strangle the night
slowly, at first-
then quicker,
with purpose. As if
something matters, anymore.
As if this day has meaning.

I am translucent.
Wildly unprepared
for the light.

A ghost,
haunting only myself.
Torn from the depths
of my own nightmares,
and the blurred memories
that bay and fuss like wolves
in my peripheral-
and dissolve to a red mist
under my gaze.

The day comes,
As if it matters.
I close the blinds.

The wolves howl in the distance.

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One thought on “Translucent

  • November 1, 2020 at 18:59

    like some air-borne jellyfish…

    I am in a closed-in place right now,
    holding a secret beauty to my heart.

    Your words speak to it.


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art of trauma