A Dream

last night

i met a very old version of me.

nervously chewing off each finger

hovering near bedside,

naked, covered in soil

and worms.

watching my young self sleep,

i tuck a damp strand tenderly

behind a new ear

with bloody stumps.

dead leaves fall upward

as i spit knuckles into the carpet

and an old friend

stands in the closet nearby,

pointing toward me

in a fit of smiling hysteria

quickly opening and

slamming shut the door

on her own wrist.

i stare very hard at my sleeping chest

rise and fall

then behind my slouched skeleton,

somewhere between the laughter,

her voice sang in the key of Tinnitus

“you’re supposed to be dead”

then i french kissed my self

goodbye

and woke with salty tears

pooling my tongue.