Odd dreams sneak up on my subconscious when I rest,
And I shoo them away before something gets confessed.
But last night I dreamt about this old church burning.
Every screw in my stomach was twisting and turning.
There were people around it with enchanted gazes.
I knew I could find the arsonist in this place.
There was no wind, only the breaths of these watchers,
And they whispered to the flame:
“You should catch her.”
My body ached from the pure heat of that fire,
My heart ached from the pure hate they desired.
When I awoke, my skull was leaking grey brain fluid.
It was no dream at all, they were planning to do it.
-Jackie
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 