Nightmare Cinema

I close my eyes and flip on the nightmare cinema, holding images in my head that speak of tired amalgamated violence. The night things that hold me, caress me, steal away my dreams, replacing them with a cacophony of scenes; cobbled together by a hermit, razor and cigarette, intent on my lack of sleep. Flame licks my thighs, sweat covers my back as the horror is expelled with a shaking seventeen second shudder, 30 FPS, shutter length 2.6 " , dimly lit back alleys…

horror turns to blowjobs; blowjobs and fucking. Serene, gossamer shadows and fake plastic fuckbuddies that hold my senses in a rapt dying amazement. Long blonde hair, handlebars, big silicone buoys that hold no greater fascination to me than a warm wet hole, made to be stretched and held. No love is made here, only fucking. Fucking…

and eating. I had no dinner, nor did I brush my teeth…

Listerine shining in orange dayglo luminescence, burning like so much lye in such a tight wet spot, pain hidden in an aura of burning, a cleansing fire. And water, drowning out liquid pain in an attempt of murder, wrapped in a cushy envelope of safety, warm to the touch, squelching the cold out of my body, like a sponge, but in reverse…

squeezing out the craven images from my bloated mind, perverted by nights of reading pornography and bloodshed. Red stained pillowcases, a scarlet letter, aunt irma, spilling from my nose, branding the comfort or my head with warmth and wetness, the taste of iron, ball of steel in my belly, the tonsils dyed to match my face in the cold left behind as the fabricated air hits my face, the small plastic blades creating temperature from lies…

hot like passion, cold like hate, deference spilling from my lips in a waking moan, disorientation striking the fragile eggshell mind of the dreamer.

Start here and you realize that this is all a dream, a dream that did not happen.

I lie.


z