i wake up deafened from the volume at which my dreams have been screaming at me
my grandpa forgot he wanted to die in january and by the time he remembered it was may

i wake tired from running, immured from the fear by sheer exhaustion
i dream of the state mental hospital where they shut him up with the weather channel

i wake slow with images still real for my eyes, my pulse too fast from the fight
the cold fragility of his hands, five slim bones collected in my hot, fleshy grasp

i wake with skin scraped pure from the purl of the carpet where i twisted and retched
i could not save him from the smell of vomit, the taste of pill casings, the glare on linoleum tile