Dreams

Let’s suppose that you were able every night to dream any dream you wanted to dream
and you would naturally as you begin on this adventure of dreams,
you would fulfill all your wishes.

You would have every kind of pleasure you see
and after several nights you would say
wow that was pretty great
but now let’s have a surprise
let’s have a dream which isn’t under control
Well somethings going to happen to me that I don’t know what it’s going to be
Then you would get more and more adventurous
and you would make further and further out gambles
as to what you would dream
and finally you would dream where you are now
If you awaken from this illusion
And you understand black implies white
self implies other
life implies death
you can feel yourself
not as a stranger in the world
not as something here on probation
not as something that has arrived here by fluke
but you can begin to feel your own existence as absolute fundamental
what you are basically
deep deep down
far far in
is simply the fabric and structure of existence itself
-Alan Watts

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Intervention

Forgive me if I stumble…there is just a lot of mess on the ground…

Somewhere in the clutter I have lost my way. Told myself that I could go on pretending that not seeing a future is part of the fun. And missing you would be like cutting my arm on purpose and having no choice but to self care the wound. That it was okay to be in a relationship where my partner didn’t have to be present, so long as they are calling to check in and let me know that they are on their way; yet somehow always late or even worse, never showing up. I never wanted you to feel responsible for the way things turned out, but I can’t help but see the fact that the failure shines brighter than the future, and the conversations are just white noise to the truth…my truth. I feel selfish because I wanted to see how this thing turned out. “What if we have the best fucking relationship that anyone could imagine”. What if? The question is so powerful that it could rearrange my life plans, silence my unhappiness, and keep one of my size 8 1/2 feet planted uncomfortably in the door just so that I can win the prize at the end of this very difficult game that we seem to be playing…It has become apparent that the only way to fix this travesty is by accepting it’s broken, and realizing that we have lost some of the parts to put it together. 

How dangerous is it, that

You have become the poetry that I write
In my head 

During sex.

You,

Have become the love at first sight that I’d set out to meet

Every day and night;

And I

Am waiting anxiously to see if

I am just dreaming;

If I am

just making up stories

To mask the pain of loneliness. 

Or, if it is the

Love drugs

That

Drag me down 

Your tummy 

With my tongue…

And the only way I can allow myself

To recover

Into sobriety

 is 

To fall into this 

Binge again.