My thighs were smaller or my hands were bigger.
I was in the passenger seat of a car, can't remember who was next to me.
Alex.
He shot an arrow through my thigh.
When I pulled it out, it didn't hurt, but the wound pussed out white mustard and blood.
"I'm sorry" he said when a look of despair.
YOU ARE READING
Dream journal
PoetryIt's a journal of my dreams. Think of it as I'm sharing a piece of my mind when I can't control it at night. Please comment if you like this idea or not. They're not real stories, only REAL stories from dreams I've had. I'll constantly add new ones...
