95 – Out of sync

Standing alone
I can hear the ocean
Roaring in the distance.

Am I dead?

There’s only darkness
All around me.

Images flash
Behind closed eyelids.
Are my eyes open?
I can’t tell.

Fluttering wings
Of whispered memories,
Play tag
Between my ears.

Distant steps,
The taste of honey,
The moon dancing
In the rain.

Perhaps I’m dead?
Or mere caught inside
A waking dream?

A gentle kiss,
The warm touch
Of a familiar hand
Begins to break the spell.

“– Wake up love,
Time to rise.
It’s not yet
Your turn to sleep.”

I wake up coughing,
Spitting phlegm
With a chemical stink.

The smell of my own vomit
Stains the air
And bed sheets.

The pill container’s corpse,
Lies beside the whiskey bottle.

From the nightstand,
Your blue eyes stare at me.
I punch the wall,
And watch my bloody knuckles.

I take a crumpled sheet
Out of the trash can,
It bears your name over two dates,
Just twenty years apart.

In my own blood
I write…
“Not yet my turn
To sleep.”