Clotting

I wanted to hold onto
The images I saw last night.
Call it a dream, but it was more;
I woke upon the floor,
Having propelled myself,
With flagrant disregard for health,
Out of bed and the beautiful purple
Of newly-formed bruises adorn
My arms. You’d think I was fighting
And would wake in alarm from
Fear of harm, but it was no nightmare,
For you were there and I tried
To make you stay, but you did not.
Now all I have are these blood clots
Forming into life beneath my skin,
Reminders that it was just a dream.