“He’ll be sorry he’s so disrespectful by
not showing any fear when I came near.
Shoot him in the head until he’s dead,”
I pulled the trigger and one .44 slug left my
gun in flames with murder as its intent.
Why’d I do that I asked myself as I
pointed the gun at Gary’s head and said,
“You’re insane.” Pulled the trigger and the
fiery bullet didn’t have his name on it and missed.
I hid my head in shame when the gas pumps
erupted into flames.
Lit by flickering flames, Gary’s face began to
stretch into an evil grin as the pumps exploded.
Heat in waves rolled over our car and Gary’s smile
melted right off his face.
Happy to see him die, I fled the flaming car.
Who put me in that car and who gave me a gun?
I’ll never know, but I was certainly there in the midst
of despair and thought it wasn’t fair that I was there.
Though afraid, I killed a man and because it all happened
in a dream doesn’t mean I’m not guilty, I think,
because the world I dreamed in, is as real as this one.
When I sleep, will the police from there come for me?
If I’m sentenced to the electric chair and the clock strikes
the time for me to walk the last mile, will I die there and here?
dreams > poetry