A dream I think I once had

She smoked a cigarette beside me

in the passenger seat of my car

in the dark, in the park one night

a lifetime ago.


She said: “We are born,

we do stuff

& then we die.

That’s all…


I wish I could, but

I just can’t make myself care

that much anymore…”


Spectral blue curls billowed out

from between the clumsy teeth inside

of that beautiful mouth,

& attempted to dance with those lengths

of false-coloured hair she absently caressed.


She had an affinity for dysfunction,

she told me:

“I thrive among the broken things”


& I remember thinking

that it was fucked-up

how much I wished I was more fucked-up

than I already was.


I wanted too much;


I wanted her love.


Nothing else seemed important,

not the the future, not improvement,

not hope

or the vast tracts of free & unfettered time

that lay before us.



I drove her home.

Nothing much had happened

yet somehow it still felt significant.


After she had left me, as

I sat staring into the darkness,

the smell of smoke & her presence



& I was overcome

by sensation so intense,

all that has followed since

feels like dull disappointment…


(This story is fiction, only the stories that composed it are true)


One thought on “A dream I think I once had

  1. Pingback: “That’s how we deal with boys like me” | words for ghosts

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