Woken up by the clinging of cups — had I arrived at Mad Hatter’s tea party?
This someone who was handling several (yes, it sounded more than a couple)
cups was nervous, as if it didn’t want to wake
me? Or Alice? Or whom?
The clinging and tinkling of sensation in my barely alive mind then
trailed off, like the trail of liquid marks on the floor.
The sound of spilling. T’was all so gentle to wake up to.
What time was it? Why did I worry about what time was it? But,
was it early — how early?
At once, it felt lame in the lack of immediate access to Time.
Always, it did not matter.
What to do with this perfect ambiguous morning
after you’d pushed me out of my dream?
I don’t even dream of him. Though
I would have never dreamed it being a nightmare with you.
Going by my routine, confused I began to be.
It’s not that unusual.
I’d remembered the possibility that you never loved me.
And you don’t.
I am a fragment
outside
all your outlined non-linearities.
You told me once I was eternal
neither linear or non-linear
yet why do I feel constantly on the
edge of ending? Continuously
ended?
Is that what forever must come to?
Although I’d come to you in my dreams,
weeping in brutal confession,
painful self-confrontation,
I remained outside of you. You still stayed away from us.
We are a dream made into an entity
outside of ourselves, running a life of its own
parallel
to each of our own.
