Hope is my malady,
headaches caused by constant plotting and planning,
glassy eyes from being the only one seeing bright lights ahead,
the placebo effect that reality offers,
seems like the desparate attemps of curing the incurable.
These dreams are my present day plague,
interrupting an otherwise peaceful night,
with the subconscious musings of a better day,
evidently i am prone to grandoise delusions,
history has proven that the genesis of every great idea was insanity,
and i shall therefore prove that mind over matter business.
How could i forget that terminal illness called love!
That malignant growth of near parasitic proportions,
on the verge of gangrene, amputation would leave only my pearly whites,
which for me is more bearable than giving maggots free reign,
to further disgust me in contrast to my impending septic shock.
Joy that incessant bacterial infection,
that worm has been crawling up and down my person with real abandon,
It’s increasing my blood pressure and soon i fear i shall have an aneurysm,
and resign myself to that unsettling half happy, half hysterical look,
donned by clowns, madmen and the mentally unstable,
with a signature twist of being the only one who knows what the joke is all about.