Tattooed Blonde

 

I’m neither here nor there,

Half asleep or half awake.

Not quite conscious,

Like a drifting snowflake.

Sinking through a prism,

Where I fantasize and over-achieve.

Seeing a blonde haired vixen,

Thinking I’ve seen her tats before.

I’m retreating, hiding,

From her beckoning embraces.

My drunken mates at the bar,

Giggling and smirking, as if I can’t see.

Between there’s a tattered curtain,

A pale veil, shadows lurking.

A vision frighteningly surreal,

Like a fiery chasm.

The blonde’s tattoos spasm,

Chasing my body into the surf.

A bubbling sensation, wildly scary,

I sprawl atop the tattoos in the sand.

And I wonder what to do,

With her bloodied tattooed hand,

Wishing I could escape from here or there.

I suddenly awaken, and burst into tears,

Recognizing my weakly fears.

 

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