CΘШΔΓD

                 dolores has TROUBLE  with sleeping. there are days when not                  even the sun can draw her from under the covers,    while she                  sleeps she dreams of nothing.  her body never seems to gather                  up enough restfulness  ,         and she suffers. and  then  there                  weeks on end in which she drags herself from a drugged sleep                  at  humbert’s  hand to whichever state attraction he’s found for                  for her.

                  oh, perhaps she wasn’t dreaming after all. it all seemed                   too quiet for any of that nonesense, even with her own                   poor expectations of silence. the mention of the curtains                   has the girl-child  twisting her hips so that she may take                   in her surroundings, trying to find the door ;    there was                   always a door, right? but he was right. the  blanket  falls                   from her night gown in a panic —–  small spaces were                   one of her things. those things.  the ones that  humbert                   gives her pills to stop thinking about.

maybe hey were just waking up. straddling he realm between sleep and wake. taking REM street to her pale lonely door. maybe the bed’s walking for them but they just don’t see it. sifting around on a cloud. too bad the mattress was too lumpy and small to be too comfortable. she has her knobby knees and elbows pressing into him like dull knives.  he wished he wasn’t so blurry---  he might be able to help her, instead of sit back and watch as numbness crept on.

                            the sandman was only as able as the dreamer. neither of them                             must’ve realized sharing minds also meant sharing fears. and what                             dizzying sedative her keeper made her swallow down. it affected                             him too. this was a bad idea.

           the mind of a child is a fickle thing ,   and demands the full spectrum            of attention when dealing with such a mind.    one only has to be an            artist to appreciate the way it stretches, bends, but  never  breaks.            one only needed to be a mad man to appreciate the  look  she gives            him, as if to test his comprehension or not.           EXHAUSTED she must be  —- !!                  ( of course there were days when the man was as vacant as any,                    days that lolita takes to exploring the world he weaves for her  )                    —- a faint gesture brings her own hand to the delicate curve of                  her jaw, pressing into the molars. even now, at thirteen, evidence                  of her baby teeth are still left behind. ‘   —- that makes sense. the                  big teeth are harder to get out, so that means they’re better teeth. ‘                 logic like that couldn’t be read in science journals.

he’s old but only in bone and skin. his marrow, and his mind are stunted. made to grow too fast when young, and now too slow when old. his tantrums are proof of that--- but maybe it’s the sickness. his cursed limpness. bed- ridden, left in dreams. dreams that are only a torment of his brothers who have souls much darker than his.    creatures of nightmares and ghoulish things morpheus was never dull enough to think of. horror is easy. beauty is difficult because it is often hard to find.

                      the clinking is gone but never is the fear.  ❛mhm. ❜ teeth weren’t as                       interesting anymore.     ❛ well, in here--- there is no door. ❜  just a                       synthetic sunlight filtering through the curtains. it’s not real because                       they’re still cold.  

                      ‘     ouch is RIGHT !   ‘

           little dolly and her mouth full of rail-road tracks, she almost tells            him to take those THINGS once and for all ;   she didn’t want to           deal with them anymore. it was too much work,  and  oh!   how           EXHAUSTED  she must be  —- !!                  ( dealing with braces was tiring, of course  ) —- dolores slightly                  sways with laughter, shoulder bumping into the others gently. it’s                  an innocent gesture, but he ruins it, because the very thought of                 some cruel man taking her teeth — it brings forth a hesitant retort                 in                 form               of              nervous                   laughter.

he manages to sit up a little with a pitiful amount of effort. arms braced, locked elbows, and an obnoxious concentration crinkling his nose. both of them must have been so tired with all this worldly weight. it was bouncing between them like helium balloons--- minus all the excitement. 

              he wonders if they’ve been drugged (but it’s only coursing through his veins).               morphine sitting on his chest like decorative white badges of failure.  ❛ the               strongest teeth are in the back of your mouth. they take those first. ❜ he taps               the back of his jaw instead of her’s this time. lesson learned. but all he can               think of is pliers & needles. 

“You came back.”

“Oh, shall I leave you and the blackboard alone for a moment?”

“There are no trails through a woman’s heart.”

“I’m your mother. I know everything. Now, where have you been?”

“Are you sure this water’s sanitary? It looks questionable to me!”

“What kind of primitive beasts are responsible for this mess?”

“Can’t you imitate any quieter animals?”

“Whoa! Okay. It’s all fun and games till someone loses an eye.”

“Don’t you know a piranha can strip your flesh in seconds?!”

“You’re looking remarkably groomed today.”

“What’s all the hullabaloo about?”

“Loincloth? Good Lord…”

“Well, this is absolutely peachy.”

“I’ve had it with you and your emotional constipation!”

“I was saved! I was saved by a flying wild man in a loincloth.”

“Oh, by Jove. Don’t know my own strength.”

“No matter where I go, you will always be my mother.”

“Close your eyes. Now forget what you see.”

           dolly’s naked feet move here & there under the covers,            as warm and comfortable as need be ;  she’s blissfully            unaware of anything outside that room, wherever that            room was.  it didn’t feel  r e a l  at all. she often tries to            find this room whenever she travels with her dad, but            it’s nowhere, anywhere, that she’s ever seen or been            to. maybe it’s not real at all.

he wants to fall back asleep. but something tells him he’s already there. he looks over past curtain tails to find glimpses of a world beyond this one and is suddenly unsure there isn’t one. sleep that makes you feel like you’re awake shouldn’t be considered sleep at all. this lucid dreaming is easier when he knows whether or not they are dreaming. for someone who’s considered the master of the unconscious...  he knows very little about it. 

                        he wouldn’t risk pushing her off the edge of the small mattress and her                         hitting a cold, unforgiving floor. even worse, she could slip into black                         sheets, into something further and be lost until she wakes. souls like theirs                         wander like that. ❛ ow--- ouch! ❜ his hands draw back cautiously and tuck                         against his robes. not yet damp with sweat but the stench lingered from                         nights earlier. he’s sick.