Between Dusk and Dawn

It was easier then, after the sun went down.

Not that it was ever truly easy. Her brain refused to let got of the
things it latched on to. There was also the stress, the depression,
the horror of the new day looming, but at night the screaming that
refused to stop faded a bit and she could focus on the world around

In the time between dusk and dawn, she never slept. She refused to
give even the smallest minute of her respite time away to then
nothingness of sleep.

Plus, sleep brought the morning faster, and with the morning those
voices in her head would raise their volumes again until they were
back at their unbearable level.

She thought, occasionally, that she might be insane, but always talked
herself out of it. Certainly everyone had those voices in their
heads. The insane ones were the ones that tried to cut them out, or
chew them out, or drown them out, or shut them up with drugs.

There was a trick, she was sure of this. A trick to living in peace
with the voices to the point that they gave you access to the volume
control and they let you let them know when you needed them to be
soft, and when it was okay for them to be loud.

Until she learned that trick she settled for living for the night.

What the Neighbors Saw

They saw me digging the hole, and walked over to the fence.

"Thats a deep hole," they said to me. "What are you planting? A tree?"

"My dog died," I told them. "I'm planting his body."

"Oh," they said. "We're so sorry." and they wandered away.

Maybe if they had stayed the would have noticed that the figure
wrapped in the blue tarp was too big to be my dog. Maybe they would
have noticed that my dog was laying on the back porch, asleep.

The neighbors saw me dig the hole, but the never witnessed me bury the body.

To Touch a Dream

I've never seen his face,
or felt his touch,
smelled his fragerence,
or heard his voice.

I have no proof that he is real,
And that is how it will be
forever, for always
you can never touch a dream.