DISBEGUN

Why is it that when I dream of you, I feel disbegun afterwards. Disbegun: a feeling that an event in your life is slowly being erased from the beginning, until it feels like it never really came to be. But the most recent of memories are still fresh so you know it did happen. But your mind denies it, tearing you apart.

It's like an illusion. The what we had long ago. The aspirations and wishes that died with our ending. I don't know whether its because I am alone right now or because of the weather. Or because of the time that is spent being at work, away and disjointed from my family.

But a dream is a dream, and it is not content to allow schedule as to when it will come into play. One cannot choose what to dream. Sleep is a demon that has its own whims. Last night, its whim was of sadism.

I am pained by what i felt afterwards. I hated that feeling, the disbegun feeling. The wishing of the has been that never was. Its annoying, yet pleasurable to remember. Oh that kiss.

Oh that kiss. The suppleness of the flesh within the sands of sleep that we shared in my undigested piece of meat. It shreds me in the morning. How I wish I never awoke.

I can still feel it. Me in you. You clawing at me like you wanted me to enter my whole self into you. The scraping of wet flesh. The slick squishing between us. The pain in my hips contrasting the pleasure in my crotch.You mouthing obscenities that would have made your mother disown you.

Whore.

I write this now because I fear to sleep. I fear that once more, within that undigested world we shall once again sup of that which we were never served. Of that which is what I wish for with every breath. That life were kinder to me as it was to you.

Or was it unkind to us both?

Here come the maybes that eat at us both. May it choke on our flesh. May it too dream the horrid dreams that I am sure we both have. And awake disbegun.

How I wish our "maybes" was an Asian male. At least it will have a chance to die from acute pancreatitis when it sleeps after feasting on the flesh of our past. Die screaming in the arms of Orpheus. Then maybe, I, we, can sleep calmly, with no fear of awakening disbegun.

Ah, but do monstrous fiends like you even dream? If you can easily tear a heart out with nary a wince, what's a little nightmare of flesh?

A nightmare of flesh. Yes, its when you have wet dreams...that only pain you afterwards because its not about the one you love. But about the ones you hate...or worse, the ones you had loved. Those are the worst.

You have them, then wake up and look around and see it was a dream, because she is not beside you covered in your cum or bonded with your flesh at last blink. Its someone else, or worse, no one. Sometimes you just curse and go back to sleep. Sometimes you begin to cry, and even sleep has left you alone.

You get up and spend the rest of the day getting eaten by the maybes and what ifs. Chewn on all day. Sometimes a nibble, sometimes a rending chomp. You end the day gnawn. Like so much mulch--regurgitated and indescribable.

Sleep eventually comes. But a last whisper, even after prayers of "Watch over me." Please...no more. But deep inside, you know, its only a matter of time before your unconscious betrays you again.

Whimper as she comes...its all you can do.