Dream Series: Road {A Gothic Tale—Edited}

...cold, damp concrete in an after-hours parking garage...
puddles that vibrate with distant highway rush
                                      and
a harsh static light that triggers a seizure in my right eyelid
...frantic seeking, frantic breathing...
I'm being crushed by the weight of uncontrollable climate and atmospheric claustrophobia...
I'm losing to the wind that voices its anger and loss through cracks,
commanding the wilds of flora to suffocate their own young
{no life will make beauty in this hell}
...in a dark corner, clutching to her knees, a tiny face is buried...
the back of her dress torn, buttons in a gravitational pull on frayed threads, hanging on to absence
her flesh scratched, leaving cavities to decay
{no life will make beauty in this hell}
my fingers hover above pinpricks of blood that pool and harden like beetle shells
...Who did this? escapes from my fingers...
I'm too close within her space
...the tiny face rises with a wild eye stare, her head rattles a venomous warning...
fear implodes my pupils: iris ink wells and runs my face
my fear: she gnashes her teeth, snaps back at me in warning...
a progression of sound {silence accelerating}
...... GO ......
she sounds like a guttural growl in ever-echo
my eyes on the moons of her nail beds...
her hand rises before her face...
a relief map of time...
turning her palm, bringing it flush to my mouth...
the syzygy of we
{my eyes shut, I can smell May green}
she removes her hand, the deep scar within my lip...canyons...
{on the tip of my tongue I can taste a thunderstorm}
a progression of sound {silence illuminating}
...... GO ......
she sounds like a jagged stone thrown in a placid pool
...rippling warmth...
she begins to dissipate...
condensation puddles where she knelt...
my hands skim the silken surface...
my hands pull away and she sounds in the breaking of the bond
...... GO ......

...atop a parking garage ledge, eye-to-eye with the moon...
I release from the hold on my feet
{highway rush, trails of headlights: night accelerates from behind star spirals}

...the rise of a sun, blood orange at earth's lips...
I, from the backseat, count miles on the abacus of my spine
{with distance I gain perspective}
I've always wanted for more...
more words in earth song, more days in hill climb, more soul ache with the rising moon...
far from this car, far from this notch in time...
...... GONE ......  

E.A. O'Connell