You Did the Unthinkable
I have a strange whispering dream.
It reminds me…
You’re broken
But how can this be
when I feel so real,
my bones mended,
my spirit whole?
The dream whispers,
No, you’ve forgotten.
You did the unthinkable.
You are but a tiny speck,
undeserving
of safety from harm.
And as I get closer
to hear the last words
of this slippery, indistinct whisper,
I catch a whiff
of something.
Lies.
It smells like burning rubber,
like embers that have settled
on something raw and chemical
that was never meant
to be burnt,
its toxic smoke
released to a world
that recognizes
its blackened truth.
I compare this to Truth,
which smells like
a crisp autumn morning,
or a brisk walk
in the snow-capped mountains.
Truth’s memory goes deep,
far beyond the horizon,
the oceans,
the marrow in my bones.
It resonates
in every molecule
of existence.
And I pull away in disgust.
To think,
I had almost fallen
for this acrid lie,
again.
First published in Scuzzbucket
