nightmares

In the past, I have screamed.  I have shouted.  I have kicked up fuss like sand and tried hard not to care whose eyes it flew up into.  I have bled through the cracks in the facade, making myself impossible to ignore.  Even when all I wanted was the power of invisibility.  I have collapsed, addled and empty, into more arms than I can count: had one night stands borne from too much diazepam, too little food and just enough girls willing to carry me home and tuck me in.  My actions have been a hell of a lot louder than my words.  It's easier to be noisy when I've disliked myself enough not to care what people think.

But there have been other times, times when it really mattered, that I have kept my lips pressed together when other things were being pulled apart.  Times I didn't cry for help, or cry wolf, or cry tears or blood or curses.  Times when I had every right to kick up fuss.

And that's where the nightmares come from.