I apologize before words.
My bed is a dream bank, and this is something I have had to bargain with me entire existence.
Which cerebral images to share, and sleeping pictures to erase.
I am currently taking my
Cymbalta irregularly, so the dream effect is progressively dangerous.
(Cymbalta is for my Fibromyalgia, but my desire to subtract this drug from my life has been literally lethal and horrifying).
A strange sound from my unkept backyard awakens me.
My canine is happy to see me, as my feline crys for his vittles.
I laid there in unconscious happiness as I am reminded of my Sciatic/Spine damage from Sunday.
My head designs soon collapsed to the sun’s reality.
I was living with a beautiful unknown Latin woman.
We had a small house.
It was peaceful.
I was cooking for her. She smiled at me with love. Her mother approved.
My lady wanted me. My life with her was satisfying.
The nightmare was waking to my camouflaged sexuality.
How it hurts.
Living a semi lie.
Yes, I came out to my Mother when I was 19, but my Father had a very unforgiving time.
Yes, I have spent my entity with men, but I hate men(I do find certain men appealing, but the concept of man is pathetic).
My first love for a woman was when we were 16, and we still exchange our present clocks.
(My last relationship with a woman was 10 years ago).
I have accomplished the art of intimate deceit by becoming sexually obsolete, only giving myself away through dreams.
”Someday you will ache like I ache.”