In my dreams…
…I am the quiet darkness that steals over your skin, secret and swift. I am the cool touch of your pillow when you slip into bed…I am the cold water you can’t quite escape when turning on the shower – never quite expected, but an awakening in clarity. I am the danger of things you can’t quite admit…I am the comforting presence of someone who will listen before stilling you with a touch…
…and when I stir, my dreams bleed all over my waking moments, washing crimson and seeping into the hard-to-reach corners of my participatory life. Disentangling myself from them is like unraveling the very threads of experience. Do I exist outside the context of my illusions? I do not need an answer; my contentment survives existentialistic cravings…but does not survive the hungers of my demonic children of choice and their wolfbred howls announcing the next hunt, the next dream…