I saw myself,
but,
it was not me.

I was confident,
young,
diseased with

hope, ambition;
I was fearless.

I hovered over land,
spoke with strangers,
spied on lovers,
crept up on culprits,
casually conversated with
career criminals.

I saw a vision of who I had become:
apathetic, lonely,
in despair,
caught up in a delusion of
self hate and
abuse.

I was hopeless.
I dug my feet in sand,
bathed in acid,
pelted peanuts at pansies
and pissed the sheets in a
drunken stupor.

of course I denied it.

I jumped on the wagon and
I swore I'd never
walk those lines again
with the creatures,
the casualties,
the kids who were left
to wonder
what happened
to the dream.


I gave up television for sex
or was it the other way around?

I refused to get out of bed
didn't even bother calling out of work
kept on waking up with sweat
dripping down my legs
I tried to capture my thoughts
with a pen, a paper, a pad,
nothing made sense,
just more ramblings, rumblings,

I swore I wasn't mad,
but,
it seems,
I'll never know.


I dreamt of suicide,
but never wanted to die.

12/11/2008

Author's Note: spanish translation: to have bad dreams

Posted on 12/11/2008
Copyright © 2024 Frank Lee