He comes to me when I dream. The surveillance runs; a film noir. Because it is dark. So dark inside. It glows blue. In the moonlight. He comes to me when I dream; a film noir. I wear the gps, but he is too far. Far away. Not close enough to reach me.
From the window where the blue moon glows. He fills the window. He fills the glow. I am addicted to sleep deprivation. It numbs emotions. It numbs feeling. Just as I am addicted to the high that comes from the exertion of a work out. I live on these as my drugs, and always have; the rituals occupy the obsessions; they play their haunting melodies; they are the playful riddles to keep me from mycelf
“I know what you need,” he says like my vampire in the night
“I need to get out of here.” I say as if I think I still dream. I am dreaming. This is all a dream. “If something were to happen to me, no one would ever know. No one would notice. If I disappear.”
“I would,” he says
But he is just a dream. My drawn of ink film noir; my mindfuck vampire of mine. He is the only one who truly sees me. Sees me for more than some fantasy. He sees me and cares for me; he is both mother and father to me
and lifts me, and wraps me
down the walls
across the fields
to towers that glow like silos in the moonlight
“No one would know if something happened to me. No one would care ….”
In the moonlight and under the stars through the skylight I watch
and hear the music that haunts my dreaming world….
“min lilla duva….”
my film noir
“Come here,” he reaches for me from the clamshell bed and places me upon his feet and swirls me into his waltz, his music echoing off the rounded walls
“I would know,” he tells me
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