With my own eyes, I watched as Dream slipped into oblivion. As she went from a soothing-limerick to a cruel-punchline, I hoped that they had deceived me... 

​

___Yesterdays

 

     Perhaps I was cursed from the beginning.

     Yesterday, it’s a word I never much cared for. It hisses at tomorrow as though today were still a memory.

     If only I could forget.

___

     Yesterday I awoke from a nightmare with Dream beside me. She was my comforter, my everything. Her warm-stare sent fear scurrying to the shadows. Her kiss, made all of my bones feel hollow. I was floating, weightless, unburdened; naked. She had such an effect on me. Never would I have imagined how yesterday would end, and today would begin.

     I felt heavy, and itchy, as though I were wearing someone else’s skin. Either that, or a poorly crafted polyester-suit. And fear, she’s been incessantly kissing on my neck, as if begging me to disrobe. Maybe I should listen, these clothes are filthy.

     I must smell repulsive. Were it not for the pungent stench of gas and grass bullying my nostrils, I would know. At least these vapors are cathartic. Is it just me, or is smoking sometimes easier than breathing? In-between the wheezing and coughing, I lose little bits of consciousness; those tiny-spaces where all my problems live.

     But whatever, as Moon used to say, “high is better than low.”

___

     Before the sun could even lift, a spliff was smoking Moon. Or, was it the other way around?

     To Moon the galaxy was minuscule, he held it in his hand. As he ingested stardust, he gave Dream a starry-eyed glance. These eyes of his reached for everything they saw. But with rocket-fuel in his veins and mars on his brain, nobody could reach him. Still, Dream tried.

     My Dream was sweet; she cared for Moon. She even called him beautiful.

As he float, stinking up the couch, Dream reiterated her previous announcement. Her voice hoarse with emphasis, she proclaimed, “You’re beautiful, just be beautiful!” implying action as a prerequisite.

     “That’s easy for you to say,” he said to her.

     Comfort had become Moon’s primary-objective. As he blew smoke-rings, he drifted through the nebula. The view from where he flew, must have been incredible. He had this dumb awestruck-expression like he could see heaven from the living-room. Too bad the gates were closed.

     As he glared at the Tv-screen, all he could see; envy and intrigue.

     Moon was adrift in a sea of lights, with no light of his own; all he could do was glow. Oh, how it saddened him. Oh, how Dreams constant compliments maddened him. I watched as he sulked, smoke billowing from his ears. Or, was that his mouth? It was hard to tell; there were so many smoke-clouds.

     Embattled, he leered at his obsession. She was always so close, yet so far. He thought, ‘if only I could lick some of the honey from her lips, or, scrape some of the gold from her skin.’

     This Dream wasn’t his; he figured she should’ve been.

__

     When we were kids, Dream was rich, I was sad, and Moon was my best-friend. Whereas others would say, “the sky is the limit,” he figured, why stop there. Grand were his expectations. His vision; boundless. While others found him foolish, Moon found it foolish to be grounded.

     The clouds were his playground, his imagination a jungle-gym. In his mind, he could fly and flip, without the weight of this world to encumber him. Never had I met a boy so lonesome, let-alone so boastful.

     “You’ll see, I’m gonna be great someday,” he would say.

     I think he thought we would abandon him if he wasn’t. Truth be told; I would have, but Dream wouldn’t.

     She just kept cheering.

     As Moon wrestled with anxiety, scared to try anything, Dream screamed, “I believe in you!” That was good enough for Moon, but still, he couldn’t move. His eyes were on the future, tomorrow he would do it.

     Tomorrow never came. Well, it came and went. Yesterday is now the only place he lives.

___

     A blackhole opened when Dream told him to leave the house. He was despondent, afraid. His very foundation was shaken. He cursed us; “You’re worthless,” he uttered in utter-agony.

     As he stood, I then understood that he loathed gravity. As he walked-away reeling, heavily in his feelings, he kept saying, “she lied to me...she lied to me.”

     There was no consoling him. He left in tears, scared of the years in front of him. The future he used to look forward to, he was now running from. What lied ahead; dread.

     He trembled as the sun’s rays touched his face. His head fell; he could now smell the roses. For them beauty was simple; Moon took this as an insult. Bitterly, he plucked them from their bed. If he had no place to rest, why should they?

     His disposition was hopeless. He moped, trudging through a lush-landscape, hating every pretty-thing he saw as he came across it. Turquoise-waters and vibrant-violets, he despised them.     

So desperately, he just wanted to sleep, all he wanted to see was the inside of his eyelids.

___

     The sun shone and Moon grew dreary, drowsy. The heat was more than he could bare. He thought, ‘a beer will help me.’ He felt like he was melting. But as the tip of his tongue was cooled, his mood changed. Moon had always been prone to mood-swings.

     For the moment, his loathing had subsided. But, as the breeze rustled the trees, something new brewed within Moon; pride. As it slithered up his fragile-spine his heart hardened. His jaw was now the only thing soft; he kept yawning. “YAHW!,” he moaned, his tone emboldened. Since there was no Dream to scold him, nothing was important.

     With every sip, I saw his starry-eyes get closer to closing. While he glared at the world through slits, it was clear; he just couldn’t see the bigger-picture.

There were tree’s dancing, couples romancing, and colors splashed-about like abstraction. But, before even Moon’s eyes shut, he only gleaned blackness. And so, he slid back into his memories. Back, into his past; letting go of everything new that he now had.

___

     In the good’ole days, we watched goofy-movies and played video-games. Dream just lingered, begging us to go outside.

     “Shut-up, this is fun,” he replied.

      Dream sighed, “let’s do something cool!”

     “I am, watch what happens when I eat the mushroom,” said Moon.

     When we grew-up, he later repeated that phrase. It’s safe to say, he never grew out of that phase. No-matter where he was, he wanted to get away. So, he tripped; everyday a vacation. In this way, he found paradise in a wasteland.

     He was in so much pain.

     I wish I could say that I didn’t notice; I did.

     He lived life on the edge; the edge of sanity, watching his world burn from a canopy. As he always said, “high is better than low.”

___

     In the good’ole days, he was an artist, an inventor. Every idea he had, he stenciled. Oh, how Dream loved his creativity.

     “I wanna see!” she used to scream. She couldn’t wait for him to finish.  

     Moon, afraid that he would disappoint, didn’t.

___

     None of that matters now.

     MoonMan is dead.

     I killed him.

     And, he killed Dream.

     The smoke cleared, that’s when I saw her. Her blood glimmering.

     The little-droplets looked like rubies as they dripped, soaking the couch-cushions in opulence. Her riches had been wasted, every fleck of gold from her skin had been scrapped-clean, but I still had her treasure.

     I’d hidden it cleverly.