Sweet Dreams

I find the rifle, I drag the rifle
I open the door to my black cocoon
I walk inside the black cocoon
I drag the rifle in and sit on the bed
I put the rifle under my chin, it feels cool like a breeze
My mother sees the rifle through the door, she calls for help
The police come, the cop comes into my room
He sits on a chair facing me, he talks, I ignore him
I hear angels singing, the cop stops talking
The angels stop singing
There is silence
I am sorry about my unhappy girlfriend
I am sorry for the family that loves me
I move my fingers down the rifle
I have no choices, I am sick
I am broken and never normal
I am lonely
I am sorry for the cop
I blow out my brains like bread out of the toaster
My blood and bone are scattered around like elephants marching on watermelons.
This is my sweet dream.

by Dominick Chianese

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