Shaye Wallace
I settle into captivity
with a beloved
hallucination.
Bearing a face of lulling
lucid dreams.
Our indiscernible torsos collide
in this sanctuary of candlelight
and vapour abiding.
Uninterrupted.
And I’m falling into this misled
by the desires
of this heart unsettled, dispirited.
Degenerating.
And though patently fooled
by a mythical substitute.
Alleviation brushes against my hands
with a tender grasp
gently grazing battle scars.
And it is then
in amidst a blanket of deadened rose petals and egg shells scattered
that I am conflicted.
With unforeseen emotions
for the dreaded life that was prolonged
formerly set between us.
And the covetous life in which
I would die
to be living
with you
once more.
Convinced that your lengthy absence
deafening yet oh so inaudible
imprisons with sheer intensity.
Your screams, how they devour the windows
with daunt and smog.
Throwing shade over serene half-light.
Even still the room embodies that of the quietest wave collapsing
at its harmless known decibel.
Your voice irreplaceably resides here
detecting you in all of your soft rage
bellowing within, encircling me.
Still. I scream for more.
—To simply fall asleep would be irrational.
