A Nightmare

This may trigger some people, so if you are easily triggered, please don't hurt yourself and read this.  I don't want you to hurt yourself.

My legs were numb when I woke up.  It happens a lot. When ever my hands or legs fall asleep... my dreams become nightmares. I think it's because my mind is trying to make sense of why my body is suddenly not being able to feel.

This is the nightmare I had when my legs became numb. 

The house was tall and dark. Six stories. Each floor was just a small shadowed room. And my mind kept flashing to cut up legs. The legs had thousands of shallow razor cuts, and each person on each floor had cut up legs. 

The cuts were from a shaving razor. 

The girl that I was speaking to looked like the actress who played Matilda.  Dark brown hair,  bow head band.  She was not on the first,  second or third floor. 

But before I began stepping up the spiral wooden stairs,  she spoke about being cut on her legs. How the people in the house all had cuts on their legs,  but a few were the ones doing it--- even to themselves.  She seemed terrified, but in a serious way.
After she talked to me she disappeared.  And that's when I began on the first floor.

The young adult I met was blond and had a slim build.  He had dark brown eyes and I when I found him shaking in the corner of his black, shadowed room with only a queen bed in the middle, I found he only had underwear on.  It isn't that kind of dream though, so if that's what you are hoping to read, just leave.
He was curled up, leaning his head against the dark wall when I spoke to him.  I couldn't hear myself speaking, but I knew I was asking him questions like 'What's happening?'  and 'Who did this to you?' as I was referring to his red, bleeding legs.  But he looked past me, and was whimpering and crying.  He didn't speak, but he looked up.  He looked up.

The young woman I met on the second floor was brief.
In fact, I don't remember it at all.
All I know is that it was the same looking room, only one higher, and that she was sitting in her underwear (white, underwear) and she was silent.  I didn't speak to her.  But I remember her raven black navy hair.  She had black irises.

The third floor is the final floor I got to, but I knew there were a few more above me.  The woman in this floor-- same bedroom like the others-- she was laughing the crazed maniacal way that insane people laugh.  She was cutting  her legs with a shaving razor.  Cutting horizontally.  She would whisper something, cut, laugh, cut, whisper, laugh, cut, cut, cut.
I said hello.  But she was unaware of me.  And as I was speaking, I realized she was answering me without me realizing it.  I would ask her what's going on, and she would cut and say something in a verse of poetry.  When I asked her why she was cutting herself she responded like this:

Living in fear, unaware of here
cut, cut, cut.
I can see, but cannot be
cut, cut, cut.
Wouldn't you rather have control
of the fist that hit you
an hour ago
than not be able to sleep
with a content mind?
If you were the one the dragged the blade
and slept in a bed that's softly made
than not be able to sleep
due to a restless mind?
My hand
My movements
My power
Not theirs.
They can't touch me
with my own cuts
because the room is gone
they've lost their luck.

And that's when I woke up in a panic.  I was so terrified I had to turn on the light and was unable to sleep.  Because as she spoke, my vision was flooded with images and I knew that the little girl who I first met was in the very top room, and that she was the one that scared every one and cut everyone elses' legs.  And Getting that rush of information made me terrified.

But as I say,
I would rather have nightmares than not be able to remember my dreams.

A Cigarette

I brought the cigarette between my lips, pausing for a second- a second so quick no one could notice I breathed outward, before inhaling deeply.  I clenched my teeth, refusing to cough.  I will not cough.  He wouldn't cough.  He smoked like it was as easy as breathing.  He would place the cigarette against his mouth any second now, inhale, hold, exhale, laugh, inhale, hold, exhale, say something about how my sunglasses have finger prints on them, inhale, hold, exhale, offer me one.  I'd say no.  I always said no.
I brought the thin white paper to my face, and just held it.
A few girls walked by me, and I felt their steady gaze on the hand by my face.  On the cigarette.  I inhaled deeply.  Do not cough.  Do not cough.  Jane I swear to god, do not fucking cough.
They were out of site.
I hurled over, choking up my lungs.
"God!"  I slammed my hands against the wall I was now leaning against.  The rough red bricks scraped my hand, I cursed while pinching the still burning cigarette.
"Is this what you wanted?!"  I shouted at the wall.  I could see him.  His head would be tilting ever so slightly.  His mouth would be slightly upturned.  The black leather jacket would be crinkled as he would place his hands in his jean pockets.  He'd pull out his pack.  He's pull out his lighter.  He'd bring both to his mouth.  And then he'd pause for a second.  A second no one could see.  But I saw it.  I saw it every time.  I saw his hesitation.
"Your hesitation should have lasted longer."  I spat at the wall, "You should have thrown out your pack.  Taken up some activity.  For God's sake--!"  A sob choked my throat, "Kept your nerves calm some other way."  I flicked the built up ash off the tip of the cigarette and leaned against the wall, slowly sliding down into sitting position.
I stared at the cigarette.
"Is this what you wanted?"  I flicked off more ash, "This was your plan wasn't it.  You do this with a lot of people.  You don't have to though.  You could stop this.  Stop hurting people."  More ash.
I didn't expect it to respond.
"You do realize that's an inanimate object, right?"  For a second-- only a second-- I freaked out because I thought it was talking to me.  To be fair though, I hadn't slept in the past month.  But I calmed down when I realized that one, the voice was right.  It was an inanimate object.  Two, the voice was female.  And I know this may be gender biased, but I thought a cigarette would sound kind of like a raspy old man.
I looked up, only to see a pair of green eyes and a quite noticeable chest that was being enclosed by a tank top.
I blinked.
She was brave.
She sat down next to me.
"Cancer?"  Her voice did sound kind of raspy.
I didn't look at her dark red hair pulled into a very high pony tail.  Or her  vibrant green, spider-like nails.  Or her stiletto scarlet pumps.  And I didn't even notice her very short jean skirt.  I brought the cigarette to my mouth, paused, inhaled. Don't cough, Jane.  I swear to- well, you already know who.
"You do know you aren't technically aloud to smoke in this area, right?  If you want to smoke outside a hospital, there are designated areas."  Her bright pink lips popped a perfect bubble with minty gum.
I inhaled.
"You might not want to talk, but I had to speak to ya."  Pop.
Inhale.
"You can't smoke here."  Pop.
Inhale.
"You may not believe this, but I'm a doctor here.  You can't smoke here." Chew. Chew. Chew.
I looked at her.  Her green eyes seemed so bright, and that's when I noticed the laugh lines by her eyes.
"Come on."  She stood up with ease, and offered me her hand. "Come on, sweets."  She tugged my free hand up.
We were walking around the hospital.  My limbs felt heavy.  I don't like smoking.  It makes my body feel gross.
We stopped suddenly.
"Here.  You can smoke here."  She smiled.  Her laugh lines were emphasized.
"Thanks."  I mumbled.  Inhale.
"She speaks," She said as she rose her eyebrows in awe, "What other words do ya know?"  Pop.
"Fuck." Inhale.
She let out a harsh, surprised laugh, "That was unexpected.  And crude."
"Aren't you worried about second-hand smoke damage to your lungs?"  I asked apathetically.  Inhale.
"Sweets, I'm a doctor and I've been smoking since I was ten. I know the risks.  I know how addicting it is.  I'm a walking oxymoron.  A doctor who smokes."  She laughed more heartily.  I heard the raspy again.
And for a second, while her profile was laughing, I saw him laughing.  He didn't have laugh lines though.  But I guess he always seemed permanently young.  He was supposed to stay young with me.
"So it took you a bit to speak, I'm guessing you're the same with laughing."  Her pink lips grinned.
Inhale.  Flick.
She exhaled slowly; calmly.
We didn't speak for a while.  My cigarette was almost out.
He would be putting it under his shoe, grinding it out.  He would be pulling out another one.  Pack, lighter, mouth, pause, inhale.
His hands eventually began shaking.
His hair was starting to thin.
By the time we found out, it was too late.
"Why did you say Cancer?"  I asked while trying to cover my cough.
She answered while looking ahead, "You'd be surprised, but working in a hospital you see a lot of Cancer patients."  Her smile was dripping with sarcasm.  But she still seemed happy.  Then she turned to me, "I saw you practically vomit.  You haven't been smoking long.  I'd say you started the past twenty-four hours.  And I realize I'm supposed to respect patients privacy, but I was Wesley's doctor."
My throat closed when she said his name.
"Wesley had been smoking for a very long time."
"Don't."
"But just because he died that was, doesn't mean you should."  Pop.
Inhale.
"I'm surprised you don't recognize me."  She said while chewing, chewing, chewing.
I rose an eyebrow.  I think I'd remember her bright pink lips and vibrant green nails.  Especially her doctoral dressing habits.
Inhale.
"Let me introduce myself to you again Ms. McKinley."  She lobbed her wad of gum into the trash can, pulled a tissue from her pocket to wipe off her lipstick, released her hair from the pony tail and folding her hands carefully in front of her.  Her posture suddenly changed, and her voice grew serious.  In my sleep deprived state, her name rushed back to me.
"Doctor Hansen."  We said in unison.
I groaned, "For--"
"God's sake.  I know."  She pulled a slender tube from her pocket, and she tugged the cap off revealing a thick bubble gum pink lipstick-- one that was well used.  She laughed, "Hey, currently I'm on a break.  Losing a patient is hard, and we had to sort out paper work."
I clenched my teeth.
"Oh I'm sorry, did I offend you?"  She suddenly sounded angry.
"Yes-"
"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize you could taste my words with nicotine staining your tongue."
I blinked, too shocked to say anything.
"Ms. McKinley, you don't have to take up his dirty habit."  She put a new stick of gum in her mouth.
I looked at the cigarette.
"There wasn't anything we could do for Wesley, Ms. McKinley.  But you still have so much potential."  I brought the last bit of cigarette to my lips and paused.
"He wouldn't want you to go down this path."
I laughed, "He was always offering me them.  He wanted me to be like him."  I frowned, "I finally am."
"Jane."  Our eyes met, "Do you honestly believe he would have asked you if he knew you would have said yes?"  We were silent for a moment.  The ask was building up.  "Well," she sighed, "My break is almost over.  Think about what you want, Jane."
And she clicked away in her red pumps.
Click
Click
Click.
I stared at the burning cigarette.
And then I felt it slip out of my fingers.
And I watched the ashes crumble against the cement.
And I brought my sneaker over it.
And I crunched it.

Dr. Hansen stopped at the door and looked at me.
And she smiled.

A Poem

The sky was so blue
that the ocean became angrily wicked
and the mountains were then torn
because their feelings were being twisted
But one moment held strong
between the sea and its song
as the horizon made them kiss
The earth stood still
with a silence that killed
Oh,
Oh,
it wasn't something to miss.

Lucifer

Lucifer,
I wish I had spent my moments
when I was younger
praying for your pain
to dissipate into the fiery sea
that you know rule over
instead of praying
that my family would be alright.
Because I knew that eventually they would be
but you would suffer
for the rest of eternity.
I wonder if you cry
at night when people are dreaming
of their heaven
and I wonder if you
ever feel lonely in the
pit you were exiled to
and I wonder if the angels
who sided by you
ever felt like they weren't
the ones who were evil
but the ones who wanted
a change of their faith.
I wonder if you pray to
your father
trying to get him to speak to you
to tell him what you meant
and what you wanted
and how you love him
even though he threw you into his greatest creation;
Hell.
I wonder about all the people who pray to God
but never once decided to pray to the one being
who needs to be saved the most.
Not saved as in religion,
but saved from your emotions
and pain
and suffering that you go through
every moment
your lungs expand.
I wonder if you ever think about how your name means
Star.
How it's supposed to guide people through the night
and how it's a reflection of how someone sees them self.
I wonder if you ever say Star slowly
and let it linger on your tongue
because you were guiding
the angels
who wanted
change.
You were
standing up
for what
you believed
in
and
you
got
punched
for
thinking
so
differently.
I prayed to you last night.
I hope that you heard me.
For I said how strong you were
for pushing through
against your father's anger.
How you've held your own.
How you tried to do something taboo,
but when we revolt against the kings down here
they're called revolutions
and what you did was sin.
I prayed that you took a breath in
and felt pride that you went with your heart
passion
goals.
You went with who you were.
Are.
You're a Star, Lucifer.
You're a Star.

Why

He walked down the stairs cautiously.  He didn't want to wake his mother.  Each step he took left a permanent scream in his ears, and the only thought was the door, make it to the door. 
But by the time he reached the main floor, and began shrugging on his coat, he lifted his keys out of the small metal bowl that sat on a shelf.
He winced.
He had to leave.
He had to leave.
He had to leave.
He heard shuffling upstairs, and he lurched to the doorknob, his clammy hands slipping on the chilled metal handle.  He couldn't breathe, oh god he couldn't breathe; his chest was tight, his collar was hurting him, he was sweating.
Why wasn't the door opening?
Why wasn't the door opening?
Why wasn't the door opening?
"Kyle?"
He froze.
The hairs on his neck stiffened.
His arms ached.
"Kyle?  Where are you going?"
His back was turned, but he could sense her on the top stair boring her sickly gaze into his shoulders, his back, his legs, his... everything.
"Kyle?"
Steps.
He heard her stepping down.
"Kyle, you have to answer me.  You know I don't like you leaving the house.  This is why I home-school you.  You aren't a very good student, Kyle."
She was behind him.
His fingers kept slipping away from the knob, and panic struck his chest again.
"Kyle?"  Her voice was a whisper, but she was so close, it was so loud.  He felt her fingers run up his spine and his gut twisted with disgust, filth.  He felt filthy.
Finally his grip on the doorknob steadied as he yanked the door open.
"Kyle."  Ice.  Her voice was ice. "Close the door, Kyle."
He slowly began closing it.
"Turn around, Kyle."
He slowly began turning around.
There he faced his mother.  Who was two feet shorter than him.  Who had such small features that she seemed harmless.  This wasn't the woman from before.  This couldn't be the woman from before.
But then she kissed him on the cheek.
And then on the mouth.
And his reality crashed into his lungs as he struggled to get away.  But it was too late.  Last night happened.  He couldn't stop her.
This wasn't right.
This wasn't right.
This wasn't right.
______________________________________________________________________________

He walked down the stairs cautiously.  He didn't want to wake his mother.  Each step he took left a permanent scream in his ears, and the only thought was the door, make it to the door. 
But by the time he reached the main floor, and began shrugging on his coat, he lifted his keys out of the small metal bowl that sat on a shelf.