Old Bandages

A heart, left bleeding in the wake of betrayal - partially mended by the healer called Time, loosely wrapped in old bandages desperately in need of changing, scabs continually ripping open and bleeding anew - cries out to be healed, mended forever, cared for and loved by one as if it were their own, to be held like a precious stone, to finally be whole.

(wrote this a while back, finally got around to posting it)

Bedtime Story

I am lying in bed, staring at a three-quarter-moon, imagining the sandman playing peek-a-boo from the dark quarter.

He tosses a few grains of sand my way, just enough to lower my eyelids a shade, but then the pain flares and I'm awake again.

I shake my fist at the sandman, turn away from the window, and stare at the shadows of my room.

The bogeyman peeks out of the closet, and waves hello to the monster-under-the-bed. I give them both the stink-eye, and they shrink away.

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. The stipple starts swirling, shadows shaping themselves into faces and such.

I imagine interesting interchanges between shadowy faces. I smile, just a small smile, and they fade away.

With my attention diverted, the sandman sidles up, out of my view, and doses me with potency.

The pain fades with my consciousness. My imagination falls with my eyelids, slipping into a world of infinites and possibilities, readily accepting the world of "Dream."