Sleepwalking Regrets MAG

May 23, 2011
By fakename7978 BRONZE, San Marcos, California
fakename7978 BRONZE, San Marcos, California
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

I fall asleep in bed
wake in a dark tunnel with a floor of bamboo wood,
creaky banisters to my sides,
or drowning in a pit of leather,
choking, choking

or cheek to cheek with cool glass,
vintage lace forming
as breath escapes from my lips
eyes peeking at the world below, tree tops tickling the pads of my feet

Yet nobody bothered to mention that I talked
Despite this,
I learned.
I learned.

Who remained dry in revengeful thunderstorms,
Straightened the leaning tower of Pisa with the thinnest of breaths,
And easily roundhouse kicked Chuck Norris's butt,
Came to live with us
As a Swedish exchange student

“Laurence! You are weaker than a weathered twig!”
slips like smoke through my lips
during the witching hour.
Laurence's fists slip, too.
Like a steel hammer against an al dente spaghetti noodle,
Like a flurry against a feather,
Like rough, black waters against sugar petals,
I submit to the blows.

Wake to two soggy marshmallows drenched in thin ketchup
Housed in my hands
like two teeth covered blood
Did I mention both my eyes were swollen shut?
Like a zipper caught on fabric?

The author's comments:
All these things actually happened to me, except getting punched. And Laurence isn't real.

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