I’m smiling because your face has just now pierced the fog and the details are solidifying themselves into an understanding smile. A hundred words pour from my far too eager mouth and I watch them clumsily make their way to your ear. I try to grab them and return them to my mouth but they move like so many flies in the summer sun and I can’t seem to grasp even a single one. I watch as your face begins to subtley change, the smile fades, and tears begin to fall freely. My head is pulled to the right, pulled away from your face, to a rather large television in the corner of my mind. A dimly lit street appears and I see my friend. I float above him as I let him walk right past me, right past me and into Gods arms.
Red floods my vision and stars burst all around me. I can’t see anymore. I refuse to see anymore. I walk to my truck and leave the flashing red and blue, buried in my rearview. I turn the dial and hear you laugh. I quickly change the channel with the expression of an adolescent caught with his first dirty magazine. I find a station playing “Enjoy the Silence” and find myself singing along to every word. I pull my cigarettes from my pocket and am in the process of lighting one when I hear you ask for one from the passenger seat. I turn and find you smiling with your hand held out, looking lonely without mine in it. I pull another cigarette from the pack and light both at the same time. As I’m handing you one of them, I see your face break out in terror followed by a horrific scream. My eyes follow your gaze to the road just in time to glimpse the sheer rock wall ahead.
They’ve labelled me a liar and have thrown me on their shelf. Right in between where they keep the thieves and the rest of the filth. What am I but a walking, talking, meat suit? Sometimes, I swear to God, I wish I could crack open my chest just to see if there’s a soul in there. Frustration is just a word and it does nothing. I watched the Playboy channel just because I wanted to live in a world where women were as replaceable as lightbulbs, yet nearly not as bright, if only for a minute. But the fact is they are not, nor should they be. So when I see your face in my dreams it doesn’t make me angry or sad, I think the only way I would feel that is if you just weren’t there anymore. I’m glad I’m still bleeding. I’m glad I still hurt. Because that just means that it was not always a dream, and that someday I’ll have the scars to prove it.