Dream X

Why is it when I dream of you, you still carry a crutch or a bat, or my smashed up heart in your hands? Last night you were on the stage, half mad, melted talent, slippery under the beating bulbs. Heavy handed. My eyes are jaded hooks in you. You were shaking your weapon at the light shining brave through the window. You didn't want the alley cats looking in. I resented how easily you careened from once feeling to none. My stomach still bubbled with your poison, witches brew theatrics. I hated the way I could feel the impression still left in my body, from where you had crashed into me.