Simulation Theory

I'd tell you that you're the girl of my dreams, but I don't dream any more.

even in sleep, I'm a liar,

by default, by chance, by my lazy attempts to keep it interesting, I'll talk out loud.

just ask old so and so, he'll tell you.

complicate for boredoms sake, with constant temporal reminders countering my courage to go deeper, to dig to China, to do better, to die bold.

but nothing happens on either plane, even my imagination is lacking.

this can't be good, can it?

sometimes I lay there frozen, caught awake in the middle of a long surgery, conscious that brain waves don't have a heartbeat. Scream at myself to inch a muscle, even a finger to waltz itself awake. to bark a diphthong or even piss myself, warm. helpless, struggling, trying to lift the car off a man's legs and save a life, even if it's only mine.

never a naked women.

even in sleep, I get no rest

'Maybe next time'

so on and so on,

can we skip to the end already?

small fire brights the room but even the blind seer is bored and refuses to speak with me any longer, four hours he sang to my eyes 'there is no quarter', now, nothing. 'no mention of father, brother?'

'Hell is other people', the Frenchmen yelled from locked bathroom, his voice bouncing off the walls like drunken fly. 'Hell is yourself'. the toilet flushed.

everyone is clean shaven and wearing suits they want to be buried in.

even in sleep, I can't pretend.

but fair enough, I'm not upset with this perspective, I swear. These things will not carry me to victory.

even in sleep, I won't shut up.

I chant, out loud and to myself.

'Yvonne De Carlo... Yvonne De Carlo' (well that make it better?)

but only monsters walk in. dull and defeated, dead even to the memories.

the rooms hold no heat, spider webs read my fortune, but I realize my Latin is no good, so I'm lost, even in my own maze.

but how can I dream If I never sleep?

stroke my hair and promise me a truth, any truth.

'Soon baby, soon'