I woke to a visual division of infrared and cream,
Though not from the blood spilled in this dream.
I felt far from myself, hunched into knowing fully what I must do,
Amid a twisting sense of downright refusal.

Unlike the dreams gone past where lucid control of transition was usual,
I had lost the delicate ability to balance on the edge and open to birthing the realm of my own death.

I repositioned and paused before diving back into myself.
There was nothing left.

Underneath the motive,
The explosives had been discharged to the increasing pulse of my beating heart.

Now for sure,
I was twisting through bullets of air toward the top of the troposphere.

There would be no archer, spalsh-down.
Her voice seemed muted by screams.
Nothing was what it seemed in the stagnant swamp of infrared and cream.

Before I leave... I wanted you to know something about me...
And, this is what remains after the bombs were dropped.