More Fin

"...there in the horizon the future drank and dined
With fate cushioned on the hard ground by the gift
Of the present, and all they spoke about was me.
It's scary to know I matter."
The reason for living can not at all be greater
than life its self
No matter how much the script is flipped
The true one man show keeps playing
With no delay with seconds passing the rod
To the minute hand to the hour hand
Creating a synchronized chronographic relay
In my sleep I sneezed,
Disseminating my dreams in vapor
Forming psychedelic clouds a few inches above
My conscious.
I stood still, on the sub-conscious face up towards
The clouds hoping for thunderous rain
I was shaken abruptly to reality by my ever demanding wants
Handcuffed by failure to a steel bed of nothingness
I broke the chains
“I will not bed you no more, I shouted.”
How can I be so lame to be bedded by a prostitute?
Ordained by death it’s self.
Yes failure is a damned prostitute that sleeps with any
Man who sleeps alone with no dreams
It will lure you; caress you till you are fully erect
With futile vanity
Living you pregnant with wishes and ideas born still
Call it envy.