burning man

time was dripping

slowly by

and had I known

where this would end

I would have slowed the dream to

keep her

from speaking.

I am transient.

a spectre.

a figment of perhaps my own imagination

no, a player

in someone else’s dream

who didn’t quite capture

their interest enough to

remain in the storyline.

where do those people in our dreams go to?

this may be hell, but it doesn’t feel like it

I am abandoned

forgotten

alone;

lost to this world

waiting on the next

feeling too much to let this go

needing too much to take another chance.