your hands don’t move, but you feel them scream you’re inside your skin like a locked machine she stands by the door with her hair all wrong says “you’ve been here before,” but you don’t belong there’s humming in the seams of sleep you breathe in but sink too deep there’s teeth in the ceiling a dream I can’t shake your voice keeps bleeding through every ache I can’t scream in this dream I can’t wake I can’t scream in this dream I can’t wake I run but the floor keeps folding in my breath won’t start, my jaw is thin your shadow cracks in the mirror’s light I lose my name night after night I see her but she’s not the same I’m waking inside the flame there’s teeth in the ceiling a dream I can’t shake your voice keeps bleeding through every ache I can’t scream in this dream I can’t wake I can’t scream in this dream I can’t wake “wake—can’t—I—but—breathe” “again—again—again—again” there’s teeth in the ceiling a frame I still trace you vanish nightly without a face I can’t scream in this dream I just wait I can’t scream in this dream I just wait
