First Crime

i dreamt i gave my bastard child up for adoption.

i dreamt of her head cut off with a small silver knife and

when i woke up from the dream i was sweaty and shaking.

"leave me out with the waste, this is not what i do..."

i was not so much scared at the flashing images as i was terrified of the honesty I saw in everything. it was not about the baby. it was not about the murder. in the dream, i saw everything clearly. the fear of commitment. the fear of being chained down. my white whale.

"its the wrong kind of place to be cheating on you..."

before i gave the infant up, i was so happy of it. an achievement. a miracle. but as with any achievement in my life, the novelty wore off and i was left bored with it. i got bored with the life i created. the prospect of boredom changed to fear of being routinary.

"is that all right with you? is that all right..."