sleeping vs. screaming?

i make my way up the stairs and i walk right in through the door, i place the rundown box of dishes i've been keeping since i bought them out of the bottom of a box in that thrift store jungle almost a year ago,i placed them on the counter that separated our bodies, like parting the red sea. i look up to you and i tell you, "honey, i can still smell you." you look a crossed the counter and up to my blank face and your facial expression ask me a thousand subtle questions all at once, of my where abouts? and why i'm standing in your kitchen with a box full of 50's painted mustard yellow dishes, and random pyrex tea cups spilling onto the counter?... why i'm still held together and empty at the same time? where my foundation has gone? where my heart has gone? how my hands are always so cold, and i drown myself in sweat when i sleep? how i have the master craft of picking myself apart every night just to put myself back together in the morning? how i've managed to make it with out my colourless painted security mask going on weeks now? how i'm still alive and dead and awake and walking? and how none of this makes any sense? so i answer you, with no words, and i pick up the box, turn around, i stop and i place it back down and take two steps in reverse.

"i still love you, and i can't breathe."

that's the dream i had this morning, and i woke up

holding my breathe like i was drowning.

i can either sleep or i can scream.

but i don't know which i enjoy more.