My dream

Wrinkled latex
of red, white and black.
stretched smothered on faces.
The colour of cards,
become reality.

Gun shots.
red wounds.
Seriously, beautiful people
With scars and blood on their necks
Sly smiles, and nervous laughter, left at the door
invisible humans. chattering, scolding, walking fast.
I put on my shoes and follow them
the yellow chandeliers.
nothing crashes, there are no ashes
hidden secrets,
strange occults.
in a palace.
Victims, Culprits, mould into one.
I am nothing here, no role, no part
no place.

remembering the white gauze
the empty rooms
the long corridors
of red carpets.
and family,
stained family.

something familiar
but completely unknown
completely wrong

false play by the mind
there is no morbidity in me.
my soul roams free at night
and watches my fears,
paints my fears
creates new ones,
a factory of pain.
with new innovations
bustling and burning
bruising my mind
hurting my eyes,
confusing me
with mental blisters
floating maladies
drenched in black tar
dripping roast blood
numbing my legs