What is a dream, if not a projection of my soul--
A place I wish to see or a world I wish to know?
I go there oft, as much as my mind permits.
A place but to my brain and heart betwixt.
Perhaps, in some alternate reality, they form,
Take on realness, and through this are born.
Another version of me there lives,
And has my ideal life all to his.
I envy him, how free he must feel.
Having my mere daydreams he deemed real.
His own heart and mind would this world disgrace
And live a life worth living in my place.
Why is it he, not I that lives life so?
Am not I worthy of living in his stow?
This other me, he knows he has me beat,
But he cares not, for his accurséd life is sweet.
He deserves this no more than I.
In fact, I would much like it if he died!
For I want what he has; I shan't be denied.
I espy a plan within my scheming mind.
For he exists only because I permit
My creations, his existence depends on it.
If I cease to dream, he too will cease to exist
And what should be mine will no longer be his.
But alas, the reward is not too sweet
To condone the sacrifice of my dreams.
Begrudgingly, I will still take part.
But envy and desire lay heavy on my heart.