i don’t want to play this game anymore

my hands were still shaking when i awoke from the dream. jesse lay infront of me, but my eyes were not yet ready to open and focus on the bright piercing light of the outside world, much less recognize the ragged corpse in front of me. when i escaped from the final stages of my dream sphere, and my eyes deblurred, i saw jesse. my hands went to my mouth in horror. how did this happen? did jesse commit suicide? the corpse was covered in blood, and was clearly thrown around a bit prior to death. my thoughts overloaded my mind and i was left shaking and gasping. it was only moments later  when i realized my hands were covered in sticky red liquid, and due to the stale metalic smell that immediately filled my nostrils, i knew it was blood. i could not even scream, my voice came out in small croaking cries, vaguely mouthing, "jesse…jesse…jesse," over and over again. how could this be? it is not possible. i know i could never commit such an indescribable act, to murder someone you hold so close to your heart, family, but not family, sibling, but not sibling. when there was no one else around we clung to one another as children. we loved each other. and so, even in my most questionable state, i knew i could never murder jess, and concluded that i was framed.

but who would frame me? and how?  i knew as fact that i was not covered in jesse’s blood prior to my dream, the only reasonable answer is that  the murder was all done while i was in slumber…while i dreamt.

 the visions from dreaming were still fresh in my mind. dull colors and no audio. but the actual images were quite piercing. beautiful men and women dancing, laughing, making love. it was intense but cloudy, which attributed to the dullness of the already dying colors. so much love going on around me, but painted in the worst light.

i clasped my hands tight together then pulled them apart, enjoying the glue like effect the blood had on my skin. i did this several times, pleased with the sticky smacking sound my skin made. i became more and more relaxed in my repeating pattern. i felt myself going into dream again. clearly, i was drugged, someone drugged me! and i didn’t know who.

consider it a memory, that faded like a flame

consider it a photo op, to them its all the same

and though i barely remember how you used to say my name

consider it an accident, with not one of us to blame 

i can’t stop loving the thing that ruins me, even after death