a cassette tape of unconscious dreams
YUN-FEI WANG
side a: is this your dream or is this mine?
|
i peeled off my skin, dipped in a river, knighted
after the glisten of your name, a shade of blue unraveled my bones, carved the ridges of your face into the ashy bones, i convince myself i’m dreaming from hollowness, where my heart should’ve been. three summers ago you heeled over my ruins taken aback by your eyes, dark glass, reflecting off forgotten cities an hour before apocalyptic dawn vinyls scratched for hymns, crept onto veins, bloomed sugar-coated whispers, like the guitar you’d strung against my waist, so deep your nails painted scars on me so soft, music almost sang of the name carved into my cheek burning in the cold, engraving your lips into words i write about your galaxies but i’m afraid of moonlight knowing its beauty would suffocate, like you did to me. one of these nights, city dreams of a misty hilltop sacred lands, roses and violets in the wind, i am but a ragged blanket, back of wooden shelves, some nights there is a way to live again, without ripping at the seams but to breathe, tortured, strumming these broken strings a sunset of colorless wishes, folded into paper planes you intoxicated me without ever touching my wounds. the highest life, ended in our nightmares, and i think you understand now, why i had to leave. |
side b: is this my dream or is this yours?
|
dim lights, tables inked with strangers’ names
bleeding stories, this time there’s no metaphor but i wonder if you’ll find yours, scratched with nails a religious death, the table i used to sit at dented chairs, an arrangement that never changed i dream of the things you have forgotten about. seats repainted but the scorches were screaming memories the day when yours became an empty space the chalkboard cryptograms, your wrists replaced time and a rhythmic clock that had stopped, three years ago i anagramed your code, absence of our ghastly fingerprints but i swear, that night, the sky was raining red chalk open windows, where our gazes used to intertwine far horizons, the world outside paralyzed in time what changed? tell me it’s my fault, anything for you to speak to me beyond black crystalline eyes i sat down in your seat, haunted, pretending it doesn’t hurt breathing through the air your lips once touched. you gave me too much to remember, you know? years later, the same classroom, the same slippery lies falling for you has always been a form of sacrifice. and in your seat i finally saw, snapshots of your narrative what you had believed in for years, and i think i understand now, why you had to leave. |
Yun-Fei Wang. The 2am writer that lives in the mind of sixteen-year-old Yun-Fei Wang has been taking over her sanity for a few years now, tearing her lifeline down, yet building up an escapism in the same breath. Find her in the evanescence of black-inked words, or at @rainofelsewhere on Instagram.