Cheryl D. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chaoticasphyxia) wrote2010-01-13 04:35 pm
chaoticasphyxia) wrote2010-01-13 04:35 pm
we don't care if it hurts when we're holding too tight.
I remember I woke up around 6am, I’d scratched my leg to fuck. Fuck, not again! Why am I always doing this? My head hurt. It felt like a bad dream, a drum pounding the back of my skull with every beat of my heart. Oh, it hurts. I need nurofen. Done. Must get back to sleep now, sleep is good. I know I’m tired, because weird things start to be said in my head.
“David Bowie’s washing machine.” What the fuck.
Okay, back to sleep again.
I stayed in bed way too long again. But when there's nothing worth getting up for, what do you do? I decided the only thing that's worth doing is not giving a damn about what's going on outside and wallowing in your dreams. Because despite being so weird and slightly disturbing - my dreams are fucking awesome.
Shower curtains that feel like cling film, can’t get a decent shower – and why is everyone watching me? Go away! Stop looking at me! It’s creepy, it’s not right... just stop watching me. Towel. Out. Run. Through a maze of dust and old items, I forgot where my room is. Where did my room go? Oh God, and they’re following me. Two men. Go away. I don’t want you here. I know what they want from me, but they’re not having it. I try not to think about it, become blissfully ignorant of their intentions.
Find a room, my room. Lock the door, they won’t get in now. No. I won’t let them. It’s pink, everything’s pink. It’s horrible and ugly - terribly old-fashioned. Ugh. I’ve got to get out of here, got to save myself – no one else seems to be listening to me, I’m shouting at the top of my lungs what they’re trying to do, but no one seems to be listening. No one seems to care. Change. There’s a second door, take it, get out.
There’s stairs, lots of stairs. This house seems to go on forever. Where’s the door out? There’s another girl, not a little girl – a girl like me. I know her, somehow. But who is she? I feel like I’ve known her for a long time. A forgotten lover, I can’t see her face. I tell her I have to go. I tell her I’m sorry. I kiss her and tell her I have to go before they find me.
And suddenly I’m outside; I’m running across the car park of my High School. Oh god, not this fucking place again. I can’t even escape from it in my dreams. The sun’s high in the sky, a lazy afternoon – everything’s a warm orange and the sky looks so clear and blue. And I stop running, he’s got me. The younger of the two men. I can see his eyes. Oh my god, his eyes. They’re so blue, it’s unnatural. Perfect blue, it’s so unsettling and beautiful at the same time. I’m scared. Where did the dress come from? I didn’t put it on.. and I’m wearing it. It’s come straight from the 19th Century. It looks creepy. I don’t like it.
I’m on the stairs again. People are unhappy, they shout, they riot. There’s a riot going on inside my head – inside my dream. Fuck. I have to get away. I’m starting back, down on my hands and knees, trying to crawl through a space – trying to hide, trying to escape. But he won’t give up. I kick him. Head butting the supports of the house and it starts to crumble around me – but I don’t care. Everything’s falling down, I think I broke it.
And I can hear Florence, it’s my alarm. I’m awake. I’m lying in bed, half-awake. Everything’s warm and dry and safe. I can hear voices, nothing that concerns me. What a strange dream. Huh.
“David Bowie’s washing machine.” What the fuck.
Okay, back to sleep again.
I stayed in bed way too long again. But when there's nothing worth getting up for, what do you do? I decided the only thing that's worth doing is not giving a damn about what's going on outside and wallowing in your dreams. Because despite being so weird and slightly disturbing - my dreams are fucking awesome.
Shower curtains that feel like cling film, can’t get a decent shower – and why is everyone watching me? Go away! Stop looking at me! It’s creepy, it’s not right... just stop watching me. Towel. Out. Run. Through a maze of dust and old items, I forgot where my room is. Where did my room go? Oh God, and they’re following me. Two men. Go away. I don’t want you here. I know what they want from me, but they’re not having it. I try not to think about it, become blissfully ignorant of their intentions.
Find a room, my room. Lock the door, they won’t get in now. No. I won’t let them. It’s pink, everything’s pink. It’s horrible and ugly - terribly old-fashioned. Ugh. I’ve got to get out of here, got to save myself – no one else seems to be listening to me, I’m shouting at the top of my lungs what they’re trying to do, but no one seems to be listening. No one seems to care. Change. There’s a second door, take it, get out.
There’s stairs, lots of stairs. This house seems to go on forever. Where’s the door out? There’s another girl, not a little girl – a girl like me. I know her, somehow. But who is she? I feel like I’ve known her for a long time. A forgotten lover, I can’t see her face. I tell her I have to go. I tell her I’m sorry. I kiss her and tell her I have to go before they find me.
And suddenly I’m outside; I’m running across the car park of my High School. Oh god, not this fucking place again. I can’t even escape from it in my dreams. The sun’s high in the sky, a lazy afternoon – everything’s a warm orange and the sky looks so clear and blue. And I stop running, he’s got me. The younger of the two men. I can see his eyes. Oh my god, his eyes. They’re so blue, it’s unnatural. Perfect blue, it’s so unsettling and beautiful at the same time. I’m scared. Where did the dress come from? I didn’t put it on.. and I’m wearing it. It’s come straight from the 19th Century. It looks creepy. I don’t like it.
I’m on the stairs again. People are unhappy, they shout, they riot. There’s a riot going on inside my head – inside my dream. Fuck. I have to get away. I’m starting back, down on my hands and knees, trying to crawl through a space – trying to hide, trying to escape. But he won’t give up. I kick him. Head butting the supports of the house and it starts to crumble around me – but I don’t care. Everything’s falling down, I think I broke it.
And I can hear Florence, it’s my alarm. I’m awake. I’m lying in bed, half-awake. Everything’s warm and dry and safe. I can hear voices, nothing that concerns me. What a strange dream. Huh.