Dreamer

Dreams. Dreams are so damn cool. I can remember so many of them. People I've met. Places I've been to. It's a trip. 

I look forward to sleep. Of course this could be a sign of something deeper. The ocean waves of postraumatic stress threatening to fill my lungs yet again. 

I can feel the retreat of my soul. It swims somewhere deep under the surface of my skin. People will see my shell in full operation, on autopilot doing the necessary just to get past this. 

Glazed over, movement intended but not fully in attendance.

My soul grapples with the sounds of an angry hungry soul, yelling, baring his teeth. Muscle memory recalling his grip around the handle of a knife, its point threatening my only means of reproducing children. Somewhere in the ambient sound is his cousin, yelling, pulling him away.

Where am I again? Right. In this ocean. In this blissfull cold, full of disassociation and dreams. In this room. Head on pillow. My soul hidding in the depths of this process. 

Breathing in and out. Asking feebly for spiritual mentors to help me lift myself out of this. A ritual, a purge of words onto this server, one more tarot card to help me understand and embrace this shadow. 

I sink as I hear in the distance glass shatter. The only time his bb gun missed my legs. He was always a lousy shooter unless he was in close range, then he never missed. Where am I again? Right. In this sea sinking. The force of my body sinking so fast it's thrust backward.  I need to breathe.

Desperation propels me. My head breaks past the surface. Where am I again? 

In this room. Head to pillow. Breathing, exhaling, listening to the birds sing in the sunlight outside. It's time to rise.