The DancerAs I write this I am waiting for him. I can hear his footsteps getting louder and louder as they come toward me. In my hand is a knife, and even I don’t know if I intend to use it on him or myself. Either way, this may be the last thing I ever write.It began about a week ago, as I slept. I was having the strangest dream I've ever had.At first it was just tapping, like the steps of a tap dancer. It was a low and quiet noise, so faint I wasn’t certain I had heard anything at all. They came through pitch darkness from a source I could not see. They sounded hollow and distant, far too distant for such a quiet noise to travel, and echoed despite not having anything visible to make them echo.Stranger still was the rhythm. The steps bounced and clicked like a tap dancers, but seemed to follow no pattern at all. They came in bursts of inhuman speed then paused at random intervals, following no structure or cadence.Most unsettling of all, however, was the strange feeling I got w
HourglassI pull up my sleeves, and lay my head beneath my knees.Another pack of cigarettes to burn out the mundane weeks.I alight my flame and the cherry ignites, as IBegin to notice the slight palate of fiber glass with each breath.The faint taste of cowboy killers are seeming dilute and supine.Yet, the eerie smoke still engulfs in my vacant mind.I find that the comfort of the kindle quickly fades and reduces to ash.This nicotine high is insubstantial to blocking outMy imbalanced neurotransmitters that are leaking too much serotonin.I believe a pretentious narcissistic lives in every soul.And I too, will stay in my labyrinth with enigmas eating at my bones.While you sleep I lay in bed next to your frame and gently weep.With the November leaves, I feel my anticipation and couragefor each and all ambitions, desires, and aspirations crumble beneath my feet.Without such endurance, my longings will seep within an hourglassThat drains each grain of sand with no remorse.And like the s