10/3/2023

(Dream)

Cutting him fruit. Serve it with tajin

I ingest warmth as I watch his satisfaction

The lights turn off and turn back on

The lights are still a warm hue

But the feel is different

There is a smell I can’t describe

He’s gone.

Everyone is

The air feels damp

I notice I’m tied up

I look up and the room is different

I’m not alone

I see 4 people on a wood plank

Side by side

I hear a cranking sound

The plank lifts

I hear her scream and watch her tremble

As it lifts I see they’re being pulled by a metal bar through their septums

This and their ankles raises them

It doesn’t hold. Obviously, I knew this

It rips through one of their noses and it all falls

The metal bar snaps through one of their heads

Making them unrecognizable

The other vomits all over the others

Her nose is ripped off too

I’m calm as I watch

I feel no cold, no heat

Even knowing that I’m next

I feel a presence behind me

I awake

I manage to jot this dream down before I

return for more.

This is the only one I can hold onto today. I ruminate about it.

The sadistic nature of my dreams always shocks me.

While awake I struggle keeping the shadows at bay but unconscious, they feast on my mind...

Ruminating on them always brings great discomfort. My mind quickly moves to repress the images, narratives, emotions...

I fight to keep this one.

The emotion is the most disturbing part. This is what sticks out.

The warmth I initially feel is brief. It quickly disappears. It almost feels like that’s the dream and what follows is the reality.

When I’m transported into the new room there is no fear in my body. I’m watching and observing every detail like it’s a movie. Hollywood props. I don’t like scary movies when I’m conscious but in this reality I’m numb to it.

I know I’m next and there is acceptance about it. I’m clearly trapped. Tied up and I have no other choice but I’ve accepting the circumstances.

I’m fixated on the pain. Almost eager about it. Eager to feel something. Even if it’s pain. Maybe it’s the only feeling I deserve.

The presence behind me is hard to describe. It’s something in the air. Absolute danger fills every particle in that space and overwhelms me.

All day I feel this sort of distance from myself and my life. Like I’m not quiet awake and it takes a lot more energy to, show up. To process things. Today, it’s my default.

I notice tension in my jaw at my desk.

I stand up and pace around. Trying to move this tension around my body. I use my right hand to grab my jaw to massage it.

I can smell him. My brain pulls it forward.

First, backwards... then it plays the tape.

I’m up against the wall with no where to go.

He’s gripping my face so hard my teeth begin to slice into my cheeks. My mouth fills with iron.

My stomach aches. My chest is getting tight.

I take a deep breath.

I can feel the heat off his breath. It’s making my face hot. I’m crying and pleading to be forgiven for existing. He pulls my head back by my hair. I’m locked into his eyes and I can’t find any life in them. I accept it- Death.

He presses the metal against the side of my head. The thought enters my head as a wish. I stop fighting and hope he keeps going. He’s angry there’s no fight. The metal spits the skin on my head and I fall to the floor.

He thinks I’m pretending but I can’t move. I have no force. No desire. I can smell the rage off of him. His skin reeks.

The scent changes. It’s that smell from the dream. A smell I imagine only prey can identify. A smell you only know until you’ve smelt it. His pores communicate what I am and what I am to become.

He’s heavy. So incredibly heavy. His weight alone bursts blood vessels all over my body. The pain is intolerable but I don’t move. He whispers I’m trash and his. I don’t argue. I agree.

Then there’s this switch. A switch I think he seeks to find. He wants the fight.

Suddenly he isn’t so heavy. Suddenly I’m not so heavy. I fight to keep just one more piece of myself. In the end, possibly only making it worse for myself and loosing it anyways. The rage can’t be stopped. I can’t be soothed.

He’s going to have to rip me apart... and he does. He always did.

I oscillate between acceptance over something I will not stand a chance at winning but also can’t help but stay in.

The clock on the wall ticks. My mouth fills with saliva that tastes like metal. The clock tells me it’s time. The clock tells me it’s coming. The clock also reminds me to find the rhythm…