As I write this simple note
my letter to other sibling souls
I reminisce about the wish that I once had
Dreams of life, unknowingly murderously alive.

I once dreamt of a forever love
wrapping her legs around my ecstatic body
shivering, unending, surreal, unreal
bourbon kisses, cocaine teases
lips tasting like a joyride of petals.
But those dreams usually ended
drowned in wetness of pillows and sheets,
false hopes and lost souls.

I have also dreamt of a free country
where orgies commonly happened
in the streets, my backyard, on the trunks of cars
and my fulfilling drug was flesh
while all others were simply fun.
But those dreams usually ended
with a kaleidoscope of morning breaths
sick, dying, sick of dying, or simply decaying
with every rooster crow.

Today I light my cyanide spliff
because I have dreamt my death
but when I arise from eternal slumber
it’s just morning, chirping and daisies
and I don’t want to just dream such an end
that will start again with the rising sun
a lie that dies when the dream dies
and my body just lays.