O free me, free me, the swaying voices puddle to be splashed in the whipping gale. Their eyes wail into the night, lost and lonely, where their arms reach and return and reach and bloom. I listen and wonder what songs would rain if you were to wring the clouds, the sky dripping with music. O free us, free us, I listen.
I step out of bed, a man screaming at the door. Their arms outstretched, linked, a net of limbs, pulsing and drawing around me, a bed of hands cradling my weary body, to be admired at — pain abstracted, kaleidoscopic visions. It’s a single man at the door, screaming. With a million fingers. Blue eyes.
Stay here, stay here, before they come. I was here once before, in another life. I don’t remember them, my histories becoming many. In an armageddon dream, I tell them to leave. Sea of grass rippling in the midnight wind. Horses like silhouette illusions striking up the hillsides contrasted against the spilled wine sunrise. Stay here, stay here, they say. But don’t listen. They will walk you off the edge of the world, where I saw your unmoving body. Where I saw ghosts.
The mirror revealed a deadman yesterday, but not today. Doorbell. I wade through the stairs, the ceiling pooled around my ankles. Red dress. Melts into blood. You haven’t seen heaven yet. Just wait. I know your eyes, better than I know gravity. Blink. Please. Don’t close them again. Blink. No.
Kites swinging in circles. I let mine go, watch it fly up to the deepest roots of the tree, tangling, ascending through the soil. Cotton ball clouds flatten and squeeze into highways. Each step milks a symphony splashing the angels with torrential orchestrals.
O home, O home, where I expect a welcome void. All the pieces placed, considered, assembled, framed, perfected, but the puzzle is missing. I’m home.
My bed absorbs into the floor in the morning, the only remnant a carpet stain of saltwater. There is a knock on the door from far away, from centuries ago. Take us away, take us away — the world is ending — the mirror, a murderer — outside, they are waiting, below the spilled blood sunset. Moon freckles. Twilight smile.
They’re outside. Free me, free me, they scream. A bird explodes on the window, maybe a pillow. The hallway empty, my soul wobbling ahead with fractured gait. Hold my hand, don’t melt. Black dress. Who are you mourning?
The next scream passes into my chest, crusting, and hardening. The man waits, the scream curling in me, shattering, the shards glittering my veins, dyeing my blood silver, crystallizing my heart. Another corpse is hiding in the mirror.
Silent. They lay, unblinking. Slow. They climb.
I watch the world end, like a blotchy painting being smeared with finger paints. I lay on the floor of my home. O home, O home. I float on the couch, rowing with the chandelier. The air is red and silky, strands of wind unwinding in long roads of withered maroon. Doorbell. The man waits, screaming. Her fingers touch my neck.
Free us, free us, I scream.