I am the wind you breathe
the cold you feel
amongst your vertebrae
The whispers in the silence
the silence in their eyes
those eyes in glass jars
I am the jars
you float in my hollow soul
like those eyes
in embalming fluid, in glass jars
over there:
on the counter
would you like to see them?
They are my eyes.
Oh, these? this?
this is a dreamcatcher
Native American
powerful
But whose dreams does it catch?
Are they yours
are they mine?
Are they wet
do they make you feel small
feel lonely feel loved feel lost?
Are they nightmares?
Do you sleep to dream?
Do you live to sleep to dream?
Does it keep your dreams safe for you or from you?
Does it stop the dark spirits from entering?
Does it deal with the monsters too?
What about the skeletons
the ghosts?
Will it catch them too?
How powerful is it?
I don't know.
Do you sell traps as well?
Of steel
and rugs of stiff wool
what about magic pendants?
But I'm tired--
I'm weary with no excuse
I swear I am--
so lets just cut to the chase:
Here's fucking Excalibur:
Here's your fucking choice, mortal:
Carve down the unworthy in this world
or Carve yourself a new one.
Can you guess
which path I chose?
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