What Dreams May Come
I wake up in a film noir bedroom—
streetlamp shadows on my ceiling.
I dreamt not of being chased
but of chasing, of attacking—
of taking primitive pleasure
from the feel of a face
under my fist, the taste
of someone else’s blood
on my knuckles,
the satisfying slish of a knife
penetrating a plump belly,
the recoil of a rifle
against my shoulder
and the head of a stranger
in my sights exploding.
I stumble to the bathroom,
flip the light,
splash water on my face
in the dirty mirror,
hair estranged,
stubble like tombstones,
I look guilty as hell
and wonder out of which circle
that nightmare slouched.
Happy Halloween!
Brilliant!
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Thanks. Pleasant dreams.
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This revision is even better than the version I saw. Really well done. I’m sure I will sleep well tonight!
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Thank you for the valuable feedback on that first draft I submitted to our workshop a couple of weeks ago. Happy Halloween!
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Stubble like tombstones… Like that!
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Thanks! I’m rather happy with that simile too.
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Ooooh! Deliciously macabre, with an ominous hint of Jeckyll and Hyde about it. Love it!
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Thanks! Happy Samhain!
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Wonderfully gruesome!
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Thank you! That’s exactly what I was going for.
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🌺 🌷 🌺 🌷 🌺
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Nice Poem!
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Thanks. I wasn’t going for “nice” but I’ll take it.
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Yeah it’s frightening 😆
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That’s better. Glad it scared you.
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I’ve got goosebumps! 😈
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Wow. I’ve done a good job then. Thanks!
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