Dizzy Domesticity

A strange dream of a smile split in two. Red dizzy spit pooling in the drain, dissipating in feathery swirls but, the piercing’s disappeared. Silver spike missing from pink gums. A boy I adore lays beside me on a couch leaning in as his girlfriend watches television.  We dare to hold hands where she can’t see. He whispers something in my ear before I’m caught up in another scene running past a crumbling bathroom where kids chew and flush lunch simultaneously to save time. We can never really live outside these halls. I cannot scream when I realize this dream has become domestic. I identify with a man who looks nothing like my real father but, then again, I ever knew him at all. A large woman and matching girl glare at me with hateful eyes and snarls.


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