Master Sandman



Spinning white stucco blackened by the night, still able to count each pinprick hole scattered about as tiny ants gathering crystal sand, in my memory. "Sleep", he whispers to me. "Sleep and all will reveal". Ugly, he paints himself there, too, on my wall; that bitter and deceiving crystal sandan. How he lies. How he wishes for me to believe that a dream inside could provide answers, reveal. My dreams, ugly as that sandman himself, only painted not in oil, but in flesh.

I swallowed those pills. I swallowed them down and felt them sink into my empty belly, stabbing the edges on the way down. No water, just pills. And the ants scurry. They dart and dodge - sand crumbling beneath their feet as they creep up the legs and into the hands of their master sandman.

The End