Nightmare

...you wake up in a dream, I wander through the streets of memories once lived.
'do you hear me? I am talking to you'
craving to make the same mistakes, same crimes
over and over;
and
over and over.

I must write.
Must breathe.
I must suck the lifeless throbbing joy out of their veins.
*sigh*
I must, like the growing, brandishing corporate deity,
grip them with a disarming smile and make myself inevitable.
I must, like Macbeth's valentine, absolve my hands of the blood
which reeks of the transgressions I chose to so conveniently forget.
I must cry, and squirm, and cry some more-
"Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!"
A whimper of the bang that wasn't.

You wake up, this time in a real dream.

p.s.: shared with Thursday Poets Rally Week 40