Dreams Die First

"Axton.
I think it's
raining."

I stand upon the stool
that's been sitting
vacant
in the corner
of this four-walled
box.

This box
has a
rectangular carved
hole
aligned with bars.
If I sneak a peek
I can see the other side.

I shove my hand
between
the bars.
I can feel
the droplets
of someone's tears
on my palm.

I hear a noise
so far away.
It almost sounds
like music.

My head starts
to spin.
Around
and around.
I see colors
of something
that I once called
a memory.
But I can't
remember it now.

My breathing
is ragged.
I lean my head
against the bars.
The rain
drenches my arm.
The droplets
swerve and curve
along my fingertips,
dipping,
then falling
into never-ending depth.

"The eye of the sky,
it's not here today.
It's not
looking out for us."

That gray sky,
hides what watches us
carefully.
The air carries electric,
like the lightning
that occasionally
surges through
my veins.
Hurting me.
Punishing me.

I bite my wrist,
the one
not doused in tears
of the sky above us.
I taste metallic liquid.
The blood
that was once
running through
my body,
re-enters on the tip
of my tongue.

Ink.
Don't.

"Why?"
I hold
my wrist upside-down.
Let the red run
to the cold ground.

I hear his sigh
of anger.
Listen to me.
I feel
the needles
puncture through
my skin.
The rope
suffocating my throat.

I fumble around,
unable to breathe.
The stool beneath
starts to shake
and I loose
my balance.
It slides from
underneath me
and I fall.