sleep paralysis, collage/inkblot art

Tactile spirit
I feel it
in small examples of leftover creation – –
and others.
At night
when I’m pulled in several directions
and that beast that only visits
to sit on my chest
and stealing my breath
I think
its waiting to take me
and maybe
I should be more afraid of leaving
but I’m not
not really
because I’m not worthy of honoring
things that earned their wings
in the hellfire inbetweens
of nightmare and waking.
I’m not worth its taking.
Not really.
My weakness has always been
this indifference.
In the caskets I’ve stood over
the movement was in the atmosphere around me
and never inside me
in the ones that linked with my arms
and stood beside me
and I
I’d look down
and see nothing
nothing I was worthy of honoring
but felt moved once
in the spirit of honoring
to belong in this moment
of being human.
But corpses
corpses never moved me.
The spirits
were different
and they never visit
like Hollywood demons – –
they come
as an afterthought
a nagging nothing
like something
you should have remembered doing
but didn’t.
They come
between the leaves of books
and ah-ha memories
you rush to reminisce with
before they dissipate
and I never have the chance
to wonder if I’m worthy
of standing in their presence.
They just are.
And I just am.
And we’re together
until we aren’t again.
And those are the deaths that move me.

Jillian wrote this.

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