Green slime in the glass, built up long and strong. When will I ever catch up and the sinks not be full? I have mindless other things to do. Watch re-runs of shows while tripping over my things. A small pile of clothes on the floor with dust. Dirty things stuck together like popsicle sticks.

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I hear the cries. I see the tears. I know the sounds. I listen well. When the sheets come down on the bed, the warmth escapes. I cover my ears. I close my eyes. I smell the violence. I taste the blood. When the pillows are thrown from the bed, the shadow moves. I want

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These bones jiggle all around. Making noise, clanging around. This foot must’ve been deformed. See how it bends at the wrong place. These hands look funny too. See how the fingers twist in the mighty wind. This is a sign something is terribly wrong. There is no dreaming here. No one’s thinking the scarecrow is

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