Tuesday, August 28, 2007

All My Nightmares

grant me all my wishes,
though my nightmares may come true.
i'm waiting, watching, hoping, still:
the Atlantis dream for you.

grant me all my wishes,
as i wait with arms opened wide.
i'll take the razors with the hope
for Atlantia at my side.

grant me all my wishes,
down to the very last.
grant me all my wishes,
then let me take them back.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

The Window

I looked out the floor-to-ceiling window of my apartment onto a wonderful, mystical dreamland. It was not accessible to me, unfortunately, for the window would not open, and my apartment door opened to a different, cheerless reality.

Somedays it rained, and the water dripped down my window. Occasionally, the window would leak, and drips would be delightfully refreshing, as opposed to the tasteless gruel that came in through the door. There was often, but not always, rainbows in the sky afterward.

Somenights the moon would be full and bright. Strange creatures would come and dance in its glow, others changing as the moon rose to its apex. Even on nights when it wasn't whole, but the sky still brightened and filled with unknown stars in unfamiliar constellations, I would sit and watch through my window.
Somedays a sun, or two, or more, would shine in my window, and I would lay on my floor and sleep in the kind warmth.

Sometimes it might snow, and the world would be all grey and white, regardless of the cycle of day and night. I had awoken in the mornings--according to the world behind my door--and found unidentifiable tracks passing by my window, the only scars on the flawless sheet of white. Once, I caught a deer-like creature--but with a thicker, longer neck, and small vampirish fangs--staring in at me, no doubt wondering about the world on my side of the window as much as I did its own.

I would sit and gaze out that window--or bang on in my more spirited or desperate moments--until sleep took me, then lie there until I awoke, every day and night of my stay in the cell. At first, the passing guards would joke, later gossip, still later muse and contemplate, as they looked in through the barred and padded window in the door.They watched and laughed as this poor soul--so they saw me--interacted with one of the padded walls of his cell--my cell, my apartment--for they could see no window.

The psychologists were patient at first, but soon they too saw no hope for me.