you’re sitting at a school desk in front of me, rubbing your palms together. Your face is wet and it’s coming down your forehead and from under your eyes. I hadn’t seen them in awhile, but both eyes are now black. Not blacked out like a horror film. That would have been easier to differentiate and to pass over. They are black like, too many lines. Too many swigs. Not enough sleep. Not enough love. Too much hate.

The instructor doesn’t understand why I am in a panic. I’m frantically bouncing in and out of my seat, trying to explain to them that I can’t be in this room. I can’t continue to share this space, but they don’t listen. There isn’t any speaking, I don’t even remember them to be making noise. All I can hear is the breathing I can’t slow.

Your hands moving together, and then rubbing the back of your neck and go back to self soothing and cracking your knuckles. I can’t see your face from where I am sitting, but when you turn to look around I can see your mouth smirk. Over and over. Taunting. Laughing. ENJOYING this.

Stuck in the back corner of a class I didn’t enroll for, I realize I am not here to learn any lessons. I am here to use what I know to get out.

The nightmares don’t stop.