In the morning I like to remember pieces of
my dreams: Pages and pages of yellow paper
falling down onto each other, illegible writing
on one side, and on the other, I cannot see.
Why did you go away? I keep calling for you,
but all I hear in return are my own echoes.

I do not believe in safety anymore. I am
constantly looking over my shoulder; I
am perpetually in a state of disbelief. My
mind is stuck on repeat, repeat, rewind, replay.
Dreadful.