I admit that I had a dream,
And in it, you wanted me dead.
So with pride in my cunning,
I went out, and fabricated false histories
I built fences, and lowered domes, around and over my house.
I lifted weights until my arms were useless, and wrote you a love-letter
Designed to confuse and destroy ya.
I fasted, and stayed up, and got stuck in the corner of the room
Now I’m a turret, a fixture of a one-sided WAR,
Only speaking in murmurs of a pitiful code I developed like a tic
Once a mantra, to fortify me against your wickedness.
You had a dream of a field of poppies,
Or something else much like it
And you woke up to find me like this.