Oneirodynia

They laid me to sleep

in a coffin made of glass

lined with velvet apologies

thinking I'd dream of oceans

or forgiveness

or that one perfect nectarine

I'd dropped in 2003.

The ceiling shattered

while a symphony played

... wolves chasing Peter,

and me.

They chewed on my ankle -

wearing a voice that once prayed for me.

My nerves bloomed bruises.

My hands turned to questions,

tossing runes to the laughing sky

that held no answers.

My skin peeled,

old wall paper from worn bones,

regret curling

smoke above untended altars.

This is what it must mean

to be haunted by your own heartbeat,

to taste rust on your tongue,

with feet that remember

what a mind will not admit.

Love letters delivered in salt,

signed in static,

that simply read

"Persephone,

come home."