When Dreams Become Reality

 

This evening…

I found my imagination in the back of my mind.

I’m feeling remorse;  I should have listened to my conscience.

My creativity was knocking on my temple.

Tylenol, shut it up…

Now my hearts paying for it.

I closed my eyes, covered my ears, and listened to my soul cry.

 

I traveled my  medulla oblongata.

I flinch. My dreams turned into nightmares.

I see my imagination lay wasted thin like water.

Fuck!

Paralyzed mind.

My conscience has become the new Cesar.

 

I look left and my creativity has overdosed on refer.

I look right at the nightmares beating my dreams.

I look behind me, and my conscience shaking.

I can no longer witness this.

I look ahead and my imagination is dead.

 

Insanity has sunk in.

 

This is absent Schizophrenia.

I don’t know who I am.

Because of this is Bipolarity;

I can’t choose a feeling!

 

Living poison.

My words are tainted.

My tongue is numb.

My heart is ignorant.

Have I gone blind?

 

Am I jeopardizing my own purity?!

 

Pen to my head.

Placing notebook paper down to surround myself.

I’m making my bed.

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder; I’m terrified by making a mess.

 

Leighrick is whispering in my ear,” Chaotic just go through with it“.

 

How did she know that about me?

Who told her my first name?

 

“I can’t do this anymore!”

I don’t know what I’m saying.

 

My history is spilling out my closet.

My conscience turned the lights on.

I look left and right forgetting I’m blind.

I stop and listen..

FUCK!

I hear myself dying!

 

Jumping out the bed; I vomit.

I feel around for my inspiration; turns out that’s what filled the sink!

I vomit again.

Except when I flushed the toilet, along with the rejection went my dreams.

 

I leave the red lit room.

Trying to feel my way back;

The walls disintegrate around me.

 

I collapse on my bed.

Place the pen in my hand.

If I’m already dying inside, who’ll appreciate  what’s left?

Beauty is within, but so is deception.

 

Chaotic is talking to me, “Don’t do it Leighrick“.

Leighrick is yelling at me, “Wait, I thought I was Candace?!”

Candace is screaming to both of them, “I’m going through with this. I don’t know who I am!!”

 

Leighrick says, “You’re Chaotic”

Chaotic says, “You’re Candace”

Candace says, “Shut the fuck up! Fuck! I’m losing it!!”

 

I lay upon my bed of paper.

With a red pillow behind my head.

I want to disguise the blood; for whomever may find me.

They won’t be freaked out when realizing I’m dead.

 

I put the pen to my head.

“Pop…”

Goes the trigger.

 

Ink consumes my body.

My soul is released.

 

The next morning there’s knockin’ on my door.

The knocks go unanswered…their whispers fade,

“shhh, we should just let her sleep.”

 

The poet lays at peace.

 

Just in case you didn’t notice, I committed homicide with the piece.

 

Next time you’ll know not to judge, but

Instead to stop to let the poet speak.

 

Sincerely,

That Chaotic, Leighrickal, Young Lady C.