Last night's dream was terrible.
Now it wasn't exactly a nightmare
because ever since I can remember
I've worried more about reality
than the demons, cretins & monsters
which seem to plague my subconscious.
It was almost two years ago
this summer when I was to discover
everything appears to me as a bore.
If I could record the words I hear
inside my head when I lay there,
sound asleep in bed, I have to try
and feign interest as i replay
past events so I can hopefully
learn from my mistakes; yet tragedy
is what seems to follow me everywhere.
For too long I've been just laying
here, watching as days slowly begin
to end. With each months vanishing
I hope for some kind of conclusion
to this play we are in. The one
where I should be playing the leading
actor by now but I lay here, motion-
less, I can't even remember my lines.
Instead of Acts and Scenes
this life of ours has no sense
of timing; because the ending
never seems to come soon
enough. We're born as nothing
more than extra's to fill in
the scenes; but as it often
tends to be, we all find
ourselves constantly searching
for something, for our fifteen
minutes of fame, our true calling.
Most of my co-star's that were
with me at the beginning are now
gone from my life. To different
cities, countries, or even
just into another man's caring
arms have they have gone.
I carry with me the weight of guilt
for giving a poor delivery on my part.
If friends are the audience, then
the one's we love would by default
be the critics. Critiquing are talents
as if they know what it is that's best
for me; and that isn't the worst
thing that I have lingering in my past.
I tried to avoid my own parents
as often as my own mirror's reflection
that I feared had been for much too long
now, fading into that of the forgotten.
Irony is what I call the thing everyone
else claims is called, 'coincidence.'
It's been more than once my darling,
more than once I had awoke with an
intent to be reborn as a human
once again! But nothing goes to plan,
and that must be, my darling,
the only cemented rule in existence.
My last attempt was and is
my last attempt to find comfort in
love. In my infancy I had given
up on hoping for acceptance
from my own family; so then
friends I sought who to had been
longing for a new renaissance
to take us away. In arms of many
female's was I lucky enough
to have had more than once
been absolved of all that had been.
Yes! I scream aloud as I stare
out the window to the suns' glare.
I jump to my feet only to feel
the coldness that rested on my floor
boards. I brush it away with a simple
optimistic thought; cos today, no worry
will over come me. I continue to
the bathroom only to cling desperately
to my sanity. I only wanted to see
my face, to see it clearly and say hello
to the man I am, feel no shame nor
regret for the boy I had been. However
instead of a gleeful joy from discovery
I refound the reason my faith never
felt real. For staring at me was seven
years of bad luck. A mirror broken
into shattered pieces showed my reflection
a million different ways, in a million
different lights. I was scared to look
but I had to know how much Time had took
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