Fever dream

A childhood room dim and cold, walls guarding stories never told.

A car outside. Reflection swallowing light, like something waiting to take me that night.

Fastening the seatbelt. a click like a gun. Outside stood still. Inside, I’d already run.

A black cat crossing under dying light, like something buried crawling back to life.

Doors open. Silence under neon skies, everything waiting. Nothing arrives.

Then a face I buried in locked-up time, too alive, too close, crossing the line.

Recognition arriving before I can run, like something already knowing what I’ve done.

I didn’t open the door. it was already undone. Like the dream had been waiting for what I’d become.

Chairs filled with faces. Watching eyes. Silent as grief. Sharp as knives.

“If I touch you, I will fall in love.”

The words hung heavy, dark enough.

Tossing. Turning. Fevered skin. Trying to escape what was growing within.

I need to go outside. I need to be gone. Temperature climbing. Something feels wrong.

Sweat breaking loose. Breath in distress. My body unraveling what it suppressed.

Temptation drifting through my veins, desire rewriting old remains.

Private storms beneath my skin, something darker pulls me in.

The mirror keeps reflecting the parts of me I cannot outrun, echoes of the pain I carried before healing had begun.

Art made by me.

Thank you for reading a piece of my inner world.
Some dreams whisper… others haunt.
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