Dreaming in the Hospice
My room is dark and I am alone. My heart is dark in the loneliness.
Fate delivered me to a place I did not want. Failure led down a path to the end of my days. That is my great hope; that this is not my next home but my last. Texas is my hospice.
I can only control my failure; I can only succeed at loss. I am skilled at only this; I am a master craftsman at destruction. I am broken inside; I am alive yet damaged. Yet I live as I go to work on time and present my best self; my false self. Some call that coping; I call it punishment. For each smile as I suffer inside I am diminished. For each appearance of a bright spirit my light inside dims.
Yet I scheme and I dream. It is hard for most to understand that my gambling was a pathway to my hope as it led me to loss; one play away from the jackpot; from the payback; from the journey to happiness. Now that is gone yet I dream the same dreams as a means of positive escape while I know they cannot come true. My life is a gaseous bubble of shame and consequence. I regret nothing yet I dread the thought of self-awareness; of introspection. If I look inside the ugliness will haunt me and I fear at that moment I will be further damaged. I am broken yet I am alive.
Happiness is not an option for me; I gambled that away. I can only dream and scheme of a bright future as I carefully turn away from myself to never observe the ugly truth. Inside this hospice called Texas I plan grand things while I hope for death. It is out of my control so in my room I sit alone and dark and broken.
