originally hers

I was recently messing about with my new gmail account, an attempt to micro conglomerate POP servers, when I came across a long lost blog.  Musings and misunderstandings.  Clearly there were some issues at hand when I wrote the two meager postings…sometimes, I scare myself a little.

a girl

Sometimes all a girl needs is a little sleep. What is considered a little sleep is sometimes dangerous. What is considered dangerous is sometimes a girl. This girl, she doesn’t live here anymore. Sometimes happened to her. Some times. Those times when your guts have hit the floor and you vomit your feet through your nose. Some of those times. Some times when you have to disengage. Times are just a story. A story we tell ourselves to cause. To be cause. Just because. An evolution of theory. A manipulation of our senses. Danger! This girl – all she needs is a little sleep.

cat or mouse

In her sleep she caught a mouse. Between her teeth. She clenched. She doesn’t want to play cat and mouse, it’s the blood. Fear and blood. She should rip that mouses head off and hammer it into the wood panels. But instead she coddles the pulsing mouse. It’s her baby. Fat tears fall from her eyes. She can feel herself heaving in her bed. What she hears is a small voice squeaking down the hall. Like Poe’s beating heart it drives her mad. Paralyzed with sleep her dream self stares at her. Blood pours down her cheeks and soaks her gown. Squeak squeak. Squeak squeak. The headless mouse cries for home.

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