Following Voices That Live In My Head

it’s just the faintest trace of it, strewn
across the carpet, muting
silence, flecking

reckless angles, swooping, crack
and lift me from my bed, pull
me swiftly to the door.

post-alarm, the shrill still
thumps my head, screeching
voices tell me, GO!

there are no monsters, only ghosts
and this is it – the call
of something less eternal, more exact;
a sliver, a glimpse – the skin of something fleeting,
something urgent, something precious
losing ground against
the tick-tick-ticking clock.

it’s been dreams the shape of living every night
for countless days as the thread of this redemption
ravels tighter,
pulls me close;
as, invisibly, i hold on for dear life.

the voices in the floorboards speak
the message in my brain, they say:

i won’t play dead while living; i will not take
one step back.

an eye of the kitchen opens.
the mouth of the kitchen yawns.
stepping in, i pluck an apple. rinse it. eat it.


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