“All the things one has forgotten scream for help in ones dreams.”

- Elias Canetti

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Your dreams are scary things you think, with all that’s lost, forgotten, or done with screaming for your attention. They reach for you with the malformed claws of twisted memory. Cuts on your arms leave only forgotten blood from your past to wriggle inside you like a parasite, filling you with angry copper and misguided blue.

And as your lungs bloat with breath unloved, the claws finally catch you and then too so do the bruises. All the things you’ve forgotten have changed and a whisper tells you they’ve changed into you; like you. Angry and unwanted, they’re vicious, you think. Only the most forgotten parts of you are vicious, you know this.

Knowing this, forgotten music clinks in your ear and your dreams die. You awake and they are gone, only a distant discomfort, they are forgotten. Sent away to become fuel for tomorrows nightmares.

One day you will be forgotten too, and you will live only in dreams. You will change in angry ways, forgotten people are lost and forgotten hearts die and while once they called for help in dreams, now they know only the murderous screams of vengeance.

You will be forgotten.