Dream Journal- Part One: Grim Reaper

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grimreaper

I have decided, as a way to exercise my creative juices, I’m going to start posting my dreams. It will be a great way to (hopefully) improve my memory and work on my dusty writing. I haven’t been in the creative writing mood lately, so hopefully this will help…

Last night, my boyfriend called me when he got out of work, around 10:15pm. I had fallen asleep in the living room while watching some extremely weird stick-figure movie on Netflix about this guy named Bill, who was terminally ill and then wasn’t but was still sortย of losing his mind…

Kyle asked me what we were going to eat when he got home, and I said I would turn on the oven and make chicken nuggets when he got there. “And Pizza Logs?” He asked.

“You’re going to make Pizza Logs?”

“Yes, I can make Pizza Logs.”

And that was the extent of the conversation. We hung up and I snuggled into his pillow that I hadn’t realized until that moment, smelled like his shampoo, and fell asleep.

You’re going to die, you’re going to die, you’re going to die…

The doorknob jingled and I awoke startled as Kyle unlocked the door. I greeted him with a hug and kiss and went to turn on the oven. All the while, that ominous voice rang in my mind: You’re going to die, you’re going to die, you’re going to die…

Not much to that dream, just left me with a creepy feeling the rest of the night. Thanks for the read, more to come!

Wildest Dreams: Midnight

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Dear Journal,

It was midnight. I was up like usual, writing that poem on the left page. It was a Saturday, so I knew I wouldn’t hear from him. Weekends are the hardest. They linger like an unpleasant odor. Soured like rotten milk. And my guts feel like twisted steel. Most Saturdays I spend biting my tongue so hard it bleeds, just to keep from crying. I spend Saturdays wondering why I had to fall in love with a man I couldn’t have.

I heard the familiar sound of tires against asphalt, but when I pushed the blinds aside, I couldn’t see anything through the sheets of white rain; no headlights. I wasn’t expecting him to be knocking at my door just moments later. But there he was. White collared shirt, black vest, and gray tie. He looked like he did everyday in class. So handsome. He loomed over my in my doorway, his sleek black hair dripping over the threshold, a drop even plopped right down onto my big toe. There was a darkness overcasting his face like a shadow, but his brown eyes glowed like a shooting star. “I, I shouldn’t be here.” His voice vibrated through my chest like thunder. I couldn’t even open my mouth. What was he doing here, I kept wondering. Even after his right foot stepped in through the doorway and his strong hands cupped my face. I kept wondering even when his lips met mine and they were hard, and cold like ice, but melted into liquid under mine.

His tongue tasted like candy apples. And all I could think about was the time at the carnival with Bobbi- but that was a different time. This was now. It was happening. The very thing I had been dreaming about since the moment I saw Mr. Prent in Global history. Since the moment my name was uttered through those perfect peachy lips of his.

It was all so hot, and I mean literally hot. Clothes felt like thermal heating fabrics wrapped around my limbs. They itched like bugs crawling all over my skin. Like that time I sat on a red ant hill and was bit all over… Focus… We ripped our clothes off, freeing ourselves of the constraint and somehow we found the bedroom. Somehow we found eachother. Somehow… We managed to fit.

This morning was bittersweet. I watched Jon dress, my chest tightening. Don’t cry, I kept telling myself. Don’t cry. He stood in front of the window, the faintest light shining through the blinds as the sun began to rise. His black hair, even after patting it down, was still askew. I resisted the urge to touch him. Like maybe he wasn’t really here. Maybe he wasn’t.

After looking out at the parking lot, he turned back to me. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

I smiled- or something like it- to cover my trembling bottom lip.

“I’m sorry.”

I nodded.

He kissed my forehead. Then turned to leave. I reached out for his hand. Savoring his warmth… But I couldn’t say what I wanted. Don’t go. Stay with me. I love you. Instead, I watched him leave.

It was the best. And the worst.

Another Picture It & Write inspiration!

Living The Dream

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Here I am again. I think this is even the same parking space I used yesterday… No, I was over one space. Staring into the tree’ skinny and twisted spine. The thin dark green leaves popping out at me. But it all feels like a dream. And I wish, instead of seeing through the thicket to the field of brown dead grass, there was a lush forest. Somewhere I could wonder. Fine a suitable bolder to sit on and eat my lunch. Feel the wind, hear the rustle of leaves, just to be at peace.

Instead I eat lunch in my car. I can’t bare to go back inside. I don’t want anyone to see me cry. I suppose I am being foolish when I should be thankful. I practically begged for this job afterall. But I’m not happy here. This isn’t what I want. I should be grateful for all the useful skills I am learning that I can translate right into marketing for my book. But… God… I am just so miserable! How does anyone do it? How does he do it? Work somewhere you’re just so unhappy? I should be used to it I suppose; or maybe my tolerance has warn thin.

“You’ll never be happy with your job.”

Is this true? Is there really nothing out there that I could like? Am I doomed to become a zombie answering telephones, “Thank you for calling… How can I help you?” Wandering through life with a gray overcast and slaving away at a job I hate all day to slave away working towards (what feels like) a hopeless dream by night?

It’s like… No matter what I do, or where I go, I am out of place. I look around at work and everyone seems to genuinely enjoy what they do. Even when they’re stressed you can just tell they are happy. I want that. I’ve only come close. The only thing that makes me happy is writing. But writing doesn’t pay the bills.

I should be happy. I work at a publishing company- a truly great company! It’s like I’m living the dream… I just don’t know whose dream it is…

Rabbit Hole

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There’s a humming in my brain
A pounding in my chest
A ringing in my ear
From the voice that knows me best

And your eyes
Pull me into my demise.

Like glowing embers they burn
Around the center of gravity
Your black hole it pulls
Me into insanity
Here I go
Down the rabbit hole

There’s a scream inside my soul
A tie on my tongue
Heat rises in my bones
An alarm goes off in my lungs

And your eyes
Pull me into my demise

Like glowing embers they burn
Around the center of gravity
Your black hole it pulls
Me into insanity
Here I go
Down the rabbit hole

Can I be saved?
Can I escape?
From which vile should I drink?
Fill the glass to the brink
Will I ever wake from this dream?
Your illusions are so cunning

And your eyes
Pull me into my demise

Like glowing embers they burn
Around the center of gravity
Your black hole it pulls
Me into insanity
Here I go
Down the rabbit hole