By Sendra Uebele.

Untitled

i kept my brain cut into pieces in a jar, one quarter left in a head. so i have someone to talk to in my sleep.

its all a never ending word document, a printer producing counterfeit money infinitely, a spinning top that told me it would drop dead if this wasn’t a dream. if the world got to wake up in the end.

something alive that feels dead, a quarter of an organ waiting in a bath of ice. a death that is scattered all over the bedroom floor, next to a plug facing the ceiling or to a phone with seven missed calls from three different people.dying in a dream could take several days to awake from. i am an earthworm growing into a new body. a trout standing at the corner of the street. a crouched figure on an ocean bed with lips swaying like seaweed that could be at the end of the bed drooling on the carpet.

you have never slept next to someone , you do not want an exhale to suffocate anyone . the room is filled with recycled air . you kicked yourself and now you have a dark green bruise on your leg . the alien came through the window to abduct you but u thought they already adopted you last year . you yourself have become an experiment for the dream . so when you do wake up , if you do , the world is waiting on your sleep . how did the earth move this fast over six hours .

your sister is complaining about your sleep talking the next morning , with a gold fish bowl of cornflakes in her mouth , scaling sighs .
without the full brain everyone is hard to recognize.
you look out of the bathroom window, brushing your teeth , toothpaste and saliva dripping down your chin to the front of your neck. you like it better awake.

—By Raheela Suleman