by Timothy Frasier:
Electric sleep with stuttering images in black and white
Clutching at a reality made of mist and fragile cobwebs
The constant smell of ozone with the taste of copper
Hiding forever in dread with fragmented memory
I peer at the strangers in my home with fear and anger
They look at me—through me, like I do not exist
I go to my bedroom to cry, but it’s no longer mine
Photographs of unknown people adorn the walls
Why oh why are these people in my house
Please leave me alone so that I may remember
I peer out the window and see only static
My hair stands from the humming of heavy current
In the dark of night, things are much better
At times I can remember, but for a short while
I watch them sleep—peaceful with hearts pumping
Pumping—pumping—pounding—louder and louder
Why am I here while my family’s long gone?
Are they in Heaven while I languish here unloved?
Have I committed some unforgivable crime?
Am I left behind forever in the midst of the living?
I lie on the boy’s bed and listen to his beating heart
His warmth is like a furnace stoked to melting
Cautiously I lay in his space—Oh, I feel alive again
The smell of cut grass drifts through the open window
The day brings me hope and a breakfast of eggs
I hide in the boy—he’s confused by my presence
As the years pass by and this body grows old
The boy who once was—has faded from memory
I lie on my death bed—feels like I’ve been here before
Shadows whirl as I see a boy by the window
I walk to him then glance back and see my corpse in bed
Together at the window—we stare into the static filled night
For the first installment of “In Essence Past”, please click here.
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