We've had this conversation for over a year now. I go back to him. I leave him. He ranges from tears to beastly forms. Sometimes the wider universe swallows him up. The tunnels of concrete and honeysuckle hide me within houses from grade school. Witches set loose poisonous foliage, the mushrooms that were once human, and oh, the bees. The insects that dig and wheedle into me when I least expect it.

I cannot leave this place.

REM cycles will not leave this place.

The prazosin dosage goes up and my blood pressure goes down. Whipping winds sting the eyes and the snow only piles deeper. I wake up at two instead of nine, where did my class go? Hidden in the parking garage. Antarctica coerces me, the winter I revoked my consent from.

I remember and I remember and I remember, and I do not feel rested.