Loch Weary Dreams

I swim against a tide
of biting piranha,
nipping at raw emotion.

I fight the deep current —
Nessie waits with open jaws.
Loch-weary, I collapse at the water’s edge.

Soul-starved, fed only repentance.
Dissociated dreams denounce death.
A greedy lover grasps —
I genuflect,
spine bowed in ritual devotion —
an offering to the water’s edge,
to ghosts that won’t stay dead.

I trail my hand through cobwebbed ether,
just above the cosmos.
Ghost-light illuminates
the grief I cannot name.

My bed becomes a Time Machine.
Dreams, my fuel;
Memories, my mutiny.

The touch of his hand on mine,
the way light broke in his eyes —
baptising my sacrilegious heart.

To miss someone you never held.
To crave what was never yours.
To dream in black and scream —
as nuance bleeds from the edges.

But Nessie waits.
She is no myth to me —
just a girl with teeth
and a thousand years of ache.