too loud

in my dream I am driving at night through a city I’ve never seen. the car is full of people I don’t know telling me where to turn. I want to listen to what they’re saying but all at once they’re too loud and I don’t ever catch more than a couple of words. I wind up onstage behind a flat taller than my home. there are girls from my high school singing their revenge plot for a packed house. the stage lights stream through the gaps in the plywood frame and the band swells under my feet. I recognise the song they’re playing and realise I should be wearing more than just my pyjamas. from behind the set I spy the ensemble lining the wings side stage. I draw looks of concern from unfamiliar faces. I don’t have my costume and I’m trapped onstage.

when I wake I mostly want to sleep again. awake is dangerous. the bombs that drop in dreams mean nothing. the day waits and I am ungrateful. on the screen I lose myself and whatever energy I’ve harboured for change that I need in a spreadsheet that will never end. there is a photo of my family on my desk. when I look at their faces I miss what I take for granted in their presence. I am the ultimate investment of their love, lingering pathetically on the periphery of movement. I am the shell of the vessel of potential they built. my hull is home to an unwanted ecosystem of algae and life under the sea I can’t control. I am docked at a port I could have left with the drive and faith I once had in the thought that I can be fixed. the waves lap at my side and I rust.