Somewhere in the transition between last winter and spring,
I stopped dreaming.
And it might've been when I stopped
reading,
around the time that I stopped writing.
Perhaps when I slept scarcely
And when I slept, it was sickly
with dreams of white bats and black wolves,
eyes bleeding and teeth falling.
I have dreamt of such terror:
when my dreams started stalling.
I stopped dreaming.
And it might've been when I stopped
reading,
around the time that I stopped writing.
Perhaps when I slept scarcely
And when I slept, it was sickly
with dreams of white bats and black wolves,
eyes bleeding and teeth falling.
I have dreamt of such terror:
when my dreams started stalling.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
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