Creative Writing

I’m having the dream where your body is a forest that I want to get lost in

I’m having one of those dreams
where I’m in love from the backseat,
and there’s a boy looking at my body like it’s a holiday —
something for him to have and then forget about.
And I’m looking at him like a mirror,
through which to see myself,
and he’s looking at me like he wants me to start dancing;
so I do just as I’m told, because the radio screams easily
and I’m far too scared of the quiet, because I keep having nightmares
about waking up and still being stuck with myself.

And I’m having the dream where your body is a forest that I want to get lost in
And I’m having the dream where you let me crawl over the roots of the trees
And I’m having the dream where you let me grow up to be who I want to be
But I’m having the dream where the roots snap, and cut me with their teeth.

I saw you in the midnight slick,
in the forest floor like crushed violet, and thought,
my god, that boy is beautiful— I want to devour him —
body, lungs, and heart. lupine air like vapour—
I could take you in this moment and swallow you whole.
I could take you in this moment and nothing else.
I could take you in this moment and it wouldn’t be wrong.
I could take you in this moment and it would give us something to talk about.

But I’m having the dream where your body is a forest that I want to get lost in
And I’m having the dream where you let me crawl over the roots of the trees
And I’m having the dream where you let me say everything I’ve ever wanted to say
But I’m having the dream where the roots are trying to push me away.

I’m having the dream until it takes me to pieces too.
I’m having the dream, like I’m having you—
Small doses, sensible— ignoring the instructions—
Everything, anything, smothering— I’m having…
I’m having the dream like I’m having my cake and eating it too.
I’m having you, I’m having you, I’m having you on.
The roots around my body were never curled tightly enough
I’m having you, I’m having you— but it’s not what I want.

This is not what I want.

You want. You get— hope like you’re pumping gas at a petrol station —
always trying to put something slick, hot, and poisonous into a body.
You want. You get— hope like you’re pumping gas at a petrol station,
And I’m the service attendant. And it’s two in the morning
and we’re standing, in a crystalline bubble of neon
Standing like a sword, amidst the blanketing tundra of the midnight hour.
It’s two in the morning and you pay by card.
It’s two in the morning and there’s blood on your lip.
It’s two in the morning and I want to know you.
It’s two in the morning and I want to tear you to pieces.

And I’m having the dream where your body is a forest that I want to get lost in
And I’m having the dream where you let me crawl over the roots of the trees
And I’m having the dream where you let me finally get as close I can reach
But I’m having the dream where there are wolves between the trees.

So, you want me in the worst way—
that’s how I know you’ve made it personal.
So, let’s meet in the dark, dingy, alleyway,
street lights, pour your heart out from your lips—
Let’s make it colourful. Let’s make it irreversible.

I’m having you, I’m having you, I’m having you on—
Top of me in the quiet, in the forest, in the midnight hour,
I’m having you until you crumble into pieces, and—
I’m having your pieces to break down into powder
To use as ashes to keep me warm in the winter
To use as ashes to burn down the roots.

Because I’m having the dream where your body is a forest that I want to get lost in
And I’m having the dream where you let me, crawl over the roots of the trees
And I’m having the dream where you let me, tell you anything you want to hear
But I’m having the dream where the roots are insincere.


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22/10/2019

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Lucy Cundill