Tip-toe, tip-toe, sleepwalking through the fire
The touch I know well, flame’s sweet caress
“Wake up!” She cries, draped across the pyre
Over my shoulder I see the smoke curl higher
Prying myself from sleep’s deepest recess
Tip-toe, tip-toe, sleepwalking through the fire
The voice now fading from the sputtering crier
Dreams are like kindling, what by day I suppress
“Wake up!” She cries, draped across the pyre
What once was defiance, what once was ire
Now there’s but shame, only an echo at best
Tip-toe, tip-toe, sleepwalking through the fire
“I want to wake up!” But that makes me a liar
The fire would singe me, it’s better to rest
“Wake up!” She cries, draped across the pyre
From a bed of embers, she failed to inspire
I’ll keep walking at night, safe from distress
“Wake up!” She cries, draped across the pyre
Tip-toe, tip-toe, sleepwalking through the fire
About the Creator
DB Maddox
These are pivotal excerpts from a gritty and explicit tale of survival in the wake of childhood sexual assault, and the devastating path I carved out for myself in striving to take back my own body—and nearly destroying it along the way.
Getting Serious About Comedy (Part I)
If I were asked to remark on my life and the childhood that paved some road leading me to this point, I would have to say something about all the funny people who surrounded me for the last 26,872 days (and counting). Somewhere along that road, I became a big fan of laughter and the comedy that spawns it – and, I mean not only my own laughter, but the laughter of others, some of which I have actually been responsible for inducing.
By John Oliver Smith3 days ago in Humor
Comments (1)
This reminds me of a dream I had repeatedly as a child - whenever I was sleep walking. You did a great job, villanelles are hard work!