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Maybe dreams are trapped screams

By Amy LovettPublished about a year ago 1 min read
Photo by Stephany Lorena on Unsplash

I watch from above

As the knife pierces flesh

My screams fill the air

But only in my mind

I am a ghost, a mist

She is solid

“She is not me!”

I shout into a vacuum

She looks skyward

I see she wears my face, my style

Her rage fills the space in between

Her victim a crumbled heap

Breathing ragged gasps

Her movements are cacophony

Stabbing the air

Mocking my silence

I try to stop her

I press with all my might

Effortlessly she walks forth

Unnoticed, I stumble backwards

Her rage like a wave

Washes over me

I stand with strength

Stepping back in her way

I reach forward as she strides

Wrapping her in my embrace

Her shaking shoulders

Start to steady

I awaken peaceful

My voice no longer silent

My movement visible once more

Broken pieces acknowledged

surreal poetry

About the Creator

Amy Lovett

Bask in the sunshine and sip on the stories

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