Monday, December 3, 2012

Post Dramatic Dreamining Dissaray

Sometimes, I remember why I hate myself-
I've deducted that I can tolerate the brattiness
and withstand the immaturity-
but what I absolutely loathe about me is:
that I'm a dreamer.

Perhaps it wouldn't be such a loathsome trait
if it didn't elevate my hopes to a point that even on a pedestal,
I wouldn't be able to obtain.

Inevitably, reality will strike; it always does, and singes me at the spot I stand.
I realize life would be less complicated if I could be lethargic.

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