Dreams 1

I'm tired of going to sleep every night
with the thought that i'll wake up in the cold sweat of a fright
that i'll face in a dream that i'll later try to ignore,
where there's an old man looking into a mirror,
and he can't tell which side's made of glass,
and he can't recall at least half of his past,
and he's got nothing left but things with which to recollect,
a past that he spent quietly wasting in a corner alone.

In an apartment he lives for 4 days without coming out,
and then packs his bags, leaves his ID, and walks about
town in a most amusing way,
smoking 3 packs of reds in a day,
letting any thought lead him astray,
and he beats his fist off of his ashtray,
and slowly watches all of his hairs turn gray.

He's so tired of being alone,
but in his head, he always knows
that he'll find someone, somewhere, someday,
and he'll re-write this charade of a play
that he's called his life,
joined in matrimony with his ideal wife,
playing the husband, the doctor or lawyer,
instead of the patient, or the famous law breaker,
he wakes up inside of my dream,
and he jumps from a window only 40 feet high,
and he lands on his neck, and he doesn't ask why,
he just smiles and closes his eyes upon impact,
and then in a cold sweat I wake,
then I step in the direction of the window where I then fake,
to enact the dream of my future if i'm still on this path,
and i lay around thinking of Plath