Understanding The Dream

This is my dream

A caricaturized truth woven

In spiders’ web and

Pulverized veins, warm

And squirting, molded

With the flesh of the living, watered

In blood, kneaded

With reality, a dream

Nevertheless, steeped

In the illusion of Life, sticky

Like saliva.

Do you constitute as real, or are you

A figment of my imagination? Worse yet,

Am I a figment of yours?

I do not know and I doubt that I will ever find out

Does it matter anyway?

Because,

This is my delusion, this is what I chose,

Trapped in a hallway of mirrors,

Ensnared in hapless eternity, because

There hadn’t been a choice, there had never been.

I dictate your terms or you dictate mine

And it is my decision to accept or reject

Because it is my dream, or I

A figment of yours.

But as all dreams go, we cannot control the circumstances

The instances are inconsistencies that revel in deeper calamities

But I can choose to wake up too early and let the dream end

Dissipate, disassemble, disintegrate to crumbly little nothings

Before its time is due.

For I am but a single drop

In an immense filthy ocean

Of pollution, corruption, unscrupulous exploitation

I dream of emancipation

From this insipid, vapid satire in which

We eat, drink, fuck and fall away

Like flies.