I thought he was a dream…
I wish he was a dream…

I beg someone to wake me.
Take some water and drench me.
Stir my sleeping soul with noise so that one day they would get me to rise up out of my slumber.
Put an end to my reoccurring nightmare
so filled with sinful hunger.
“When will it be over?” is what I wonder.
I’m sick of the evil that’s too ignorant to reside.
Every time I see him there’s hate in his eyes.
Pride and lies dwell within his mind.
He relies on my blindness just to remain alive.
No point in running because he’s never far behind.
He knows the elements of my downfall.
My cravings, my emotions, my weaknesses,
he knows them all.
I pleaded for his exile,
but my requests were repeatedly denied.
I’m always the suspect at the end of his crimes.
At every toss and every turn that I make,
he commits one after another.
I saw him leading my loved ones
blindly over the edge of a cliff.
From his pedestal he is the oppressor of the less fortunate.
He covers up he intentions with white robes and halos,
wings and sandals, as well as a smooth tongue
to drown out the sounds of scandal.
He laughs at the wounded
while holding a bloody knife.
Momentarily he’s entertained by strife.
He fluently speaks words of malice.
He knows the cure for his disease,
but he chose not to take it.
He hates it.
He loves the misery, the pain, the lies, the lust,
the fakeness, the rage.
He claims to be a part of me.
The thought of us being partners startles me.
“How could that be?” I asked of him.
He replies to me, “I am you and you are me.”
I struggle to resist the sweetness of death’s sting,
but he’s swift and relentless.
He’s quick to lay traps on the road to repentance,
so that on the last day I serve his deserved prison sentence.
No wonder when I face the judge every day
I feel the urge to scream…

“I thought he was a dream…
I wish he was a dream.

April 12th, 2004