So, is this a poem, or what?

You were in my dream last night.
Not really you, though. I know that.

Just a copy, a doppelganger, maybe. A shadow left on my brain, 

but with dim eyes, and a small voice. A pale ghost.
A reminder
of things I thought were done and gone.

And I didn’t know 

if I should run to you or run away,
so I tortured myself instead. 

I opened up the dried box of my heart, 

looking for the words to say
or the feelings to feel that will make sense of it,
and let me be unstuck at last.


Now I lay here in bed, afraid to sleep again, 

afraid to see you,
afraid it’ll all start over again.