Concrete

Life’s been so concrete these days but concrete is grey and my life is a basquiat painting but basquiat’s paintings are gloomy and my life lately is...
anything but.

My dreamscape usually involves unicorns and learning how to fly and puppies and even those have turned to very real possibilities.

Insane possibilities that make me feel like my anxiety might just be a nice word for narcissistic tendencies but...
possibilities nonetheless.

It’s me
exiting a stage I just delivered words on and
falling to my knees
in uncontrollable sobs,
because...

how could any of this be real?
how could any of this be true?
how did I not die right then and there?
and...

what do I dream about now?