A new poem

Wet Dream

I had a vision of myself in a hot air balloon with a woman by my side.
Who knew who she was,
I rarely do.
Even so the flame burned so hot.
Douse the fire with water,
This contraption will not falter.
Held by a single straw basket amidst the clouds like a bail of hay in a cotton field.
Weightlessness settles upon us two as we embrace high above the ocean,
Lake,
Pond,
Shit…
It fades.
There was never a woman and never a balloon.
The passion escapes the scene-
Clouds disintegrate, the water beneath is suddenly
sealed by dangerously rocky beaches; like the blowing of
the final light bulb that lit
the future,
vividity is eradicated.
It was nothing but a cocaine daydream.
One thing was real-I’m weightless.
This is how it goes:
I only float for a moment until
gravity pulls me down and sanity pushes. Awareness skyrockets my
velocity but I haven’t come an inch closer to
the inevitable bottom of my plunge. I am the bastard son of
my own dreams, forsaken by whoever I think I am.
But some of the greatest artists are the worst kind of people,
Attempting to one-up their heroes.

That’s the one thing my self will never become,
And one of many that keep me falling and prevent me-
From floating.