fantasy is for fools

Reality, a bully,

clutches your throat

kneels into your chest.

You struggle to escape

yet with each

bruised, shallow inhale

lungs fill only with all the what-could-go-wrongs.

Your thoughts corrupted

with reality’s warned whispers of how

giant leaps always crash into dead ends.

Your limbs become complacent

with safety of the known.

Fantasy fades

as if it’s a favorite black t-shirt

washed too many times.

You no longer struggle and

reality loosens its clutches.

You lean into its embrace.

Let the fools run toward dreams

like mosquitos flying into the light of a bug zapper.

As you sleepily exhale,

your last image through half-closed eyes

is reality’s strong hand holding hope’s head underwater.

You are lulled to sleep to the sounds of gasping, choking, drowning.

What does it matter as long as you are warm and safe?

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