dream wall

The past two nights I’ve dreamed of a box, a rectangle on the wall I can’t quite see. A piece of paper perhaps, but written on. It may not even be paper, I can’t see it clearly enough. It may be stone, wood, a pale face. Ancient. It wakes me up, but I can’t see it well enough to get a grasp on what it is. Of course it may be be my unfinished poem. There on the wall of my dream.
I feel swelled, swollen. I feel today right now as I remember feeling so often as a girl. The need to bleed something. It used to terrify me.
I want it to be right. Not reality, but truth. I just want it to be right, which is maybe why it’s having so much trouble coming out.

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