Scentless Dreams

Drifting across the borders of waking
Starting to sleep, to dream
Where one could bleed forever

There’s so much blood 

Someone is tying a young man’s hands
Behind his back

He’s on the floor, on his belly 

So much blood 

Why am I shown this
He’s panicking, mouth open 
But sound doesn’t exist in this place 

So much blood

He’s red and wet in a sticky puddle
I can’t see a wound 

Is this his home
This young man with dark curls
Solid, fit
Struggling on the hard floor of the bright living room
With soft light filtered through sheer curtains —
Is this his

His assailant is a blur, face covered 

Whose blood is this

He’s well enough to keep screaming
Thrashing, fighting, losing regardless
He won’t give up

He wants so desperately to live 

He wants to be free but
The other is stronger 

The dream vanished with a snap
The young man and all the blood is gone
But when the blurry memory replays behind my eyes
I see his thrashing, wide eyed silent screaming
The sticky red cotton
Pressed against his back
Deep and vibrant 

Three things cross my mind

I wonder what his voice sounded like 

I hope I never see what became of him

I’m glad that dreams have no scent