Last night I dreamt of a neck. It was long and pale, slender, translucent veins filled with moonlight. I caressed it...it was cold, but in a soothing way, like your toes dipped in a lake at sunset. I had an insane urge to bite it, to tear it open and taste the liquid moonlight, it would fill me with power and I could fly.

I kept my cool and settled for choking it, my thumbs leaving two rosy depressions like eyes in the skin. I thought it much improved for a moment, but the eyes began to stare at me, accusing me, and I had to poke them out.

It wasn't moonlight that filled those beautiful veins, it was a fine white powder, pixie dust or snow, I couldn't tell. I lapped it up like a dog and waited for the magic. It never came.


M. PotPie