"Drunk Skunk"
I'm lying
in a park bench in the past.
Inebriated
and half dead on booze.
I'd be
better off instead, dreaming this at home, in bed.
Is this
really in my head?
I sleep
drunk and smell like an angry skunk, which stunk.
I can
feel the weight of the world.
A ton of
steel on top crushing me.
But that
won't hurt me in a dream.
If the
dream is real.
I feel
like shouting a scream in this dream.
It's as
frigid as dry ice and hotter than a molten lava stream.
No songs
to play.
This and
every day.
The dream
is not here to stay.
But life
will not pay.
But cost
to age.
Said the
fool in the cage.
In
reality an enlightened sage.
Who is in
the author's written page.
All the
rage in a television's stage.
By
Jonathan Billet - 12.05.13.
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