In my dreams

I’d run and scream and not say a thing.
I’d spend days in silence,
not uttering a word
and never once hear my own name.

I’d bleed just for the hell of it,
just to see the bright red hit the ground,
and never once wipe it away.

I’d live naked in a cave behind the waterfall
with just my ghosts for company.
And at night I’d spend hours
entranced by the feel of my pelvis under my fingertips.

My body would be free and naught but my own,
as daily I would bathe in the pool that was my doorstep.

And under a full moon I would lie,
with one had in the water and watch my reflection,
muddied by a purpose long forgotten.

Content to be
perfectly out of control.