Wish You Were Real


Freeze-framed portraits hanging

on the foggy memory wall,

fragments of these times and places

laying shredded on the floor

and a jeweled image of your

proverbial face adorning my

cerebellum.


Reality? It's mere fantasy.

All you've become is all that you will be.


I stopped you on the train,

hearing voices prompt the dream,

and I saw you shake and fall to pieces

with a shattering sound.


Alone in a compartment,

blood fused in familial fashion,

and your smile went and faded

into my memory portrait.