had too much to dream

since i was little i have always had fucked up dreams.
mostly based on something terrible i've seen.
something that stuck with me.
sometimes a memory from my childhood's past.
something that didn't sit well.
something i want to happen.
something i secretly want to happen.
my dreams are the kaleidoscope view of my jacked up intestines.
i hate telling the people close to me about my dreams because they'll never understand the severity of what i experienced in dream land.
i listen to myself,
sounding silly.
my mother,
when i was younger,
when i used to have insanely evil night terrors,
told me to draw what i had seen,
the absorbent paper would dissolve my re-creation,
she would make me rip the pic to bits.
sometimes she would burn the nightmare art with her fag.
always a demonic figure,
always a horrible happening,
i'm sure this scene was in b-movie,
my life fabricated in some one else's art.
nonetheless,
mnemonics ablaze,
fix-a-dent and forget
it,
move on...
somehow with time...
the hellish monster, that was inside me,
the hellish monster, i dreamed about would become a blurred figment of my imagination.
hung deep, deep, deep near the harmless skeletons in the back of my soul's closet.
that doesn't mean they don't like to come and visit.


i dream of a black man. a lot. not an ordinary black man.
a black figure.
from head to toe he is black.
his bod a dark abyss. unidentifiable.
he is built like a freight train.
his body is french braided with onyx muscle. dense as brick.
his skin inhales light.
if you look deep into him, you can see each sparkling nucleus. the endless maps of cells.
glistening atoms.
rush hour in his epidermis, every flickering dot is a showering meteor. celestial skin.
you can only see this close up.
he is a shadow on steroids.

i refer to him as slate.

slate made an appearance last night. i was in bed with an ex. my ex was spooning tightly me in my dream.
cozily, my body was firmly tucked into his.
i hugged myself as i heavily slept.
my ex awoke seconds before i did, just in time to hear the scream. a blood curdling shriek straight from my gut.
slate,
stood in the corner of our darkened room, camouflaged in between a corner and our navy curtains, the only light was from the lamppost outside our apartment window, a singular ray displayed slate's muscular form.
slate stood there unfrightened, his posture as still and straight as a knitting needle.
my ex shook me, as a means to get me to stop screaming. my ex thought i was awake.
i wasn't.
my last scream as abrasive and shrill as whistle, woke me up, and as my tear-filled eyes focused i saw slate standing there as sure as day.
slate's hand reached out toward me as my ex pulled me deeper into his clutch...
and
as if it never happened slate compacted his physique,
disappearing into the upper corner of the room.
my ex an infinite skeptic, a realist, a non-dreamer, immediately rationalized,
"we must both be on the same wave length," he sighed,
still strangling my waist, the brushing of his lips on my ear soothed me,
"we must be really in tune right now."
my ex, dug his handsome stubbly face into my shoulder, i turned my head to absorb the comfort of his kiss, my eyes finally focused to see it was slate who was coaxing me,
cradling me,
loving me.
sucked from my throat,
was my voice,
slate vacuumed me into the essence of his shell and i was no more
as well.
i awoke, holding myself, sweaty, out of breathe, my nails sliced through the tan bark of my sides.