I eat the dreams of children who are lost

This little boy, no taller than about a couple of feet he walks up to me and holds out his little pale lobster hands and he calls out to me with a sound I could not even begin to describe.

The organ grinder is still and the sky is glowing lavender. My harpschiord no longer makes the right sounds, cat screams pouring out of the hyperventilating rat. Looly loo this purple shark floats above us waiting for the next patient to dance into the emergency room. He bites my knit cap off and I am without conscience

I don’t think I want to eat the dreams of children anymore.