My dreams have been chaotic and violent as of late. Frenzied scenes of color splash across the pale screen behind my eyes. It tickles my brain. An incessant itch beneath hair, and flesh, and bone. Vivid though they may be, what lingers are not the sights nor sounds. It is the trembling. The heated haughty air trapped inside my chest as I come to. A long exhale. Clenching my jaw. The flash of a name across my mind. Wretched writhing between linen and grey matter. I stopped journaling my dreams in detail a long time ago. For some reason they are as clear now as they were back then.