The sun is shining out of my rear,
A moment for praise, reflection and cheer.
Held up above in such high esteem
For things that I dared to act out from dream.
What they do not know is the price of my fare.
Its born not of dream, but born of nightmare.
Drowning in oil, gasping for breath.
Alternative modes of extravagant death.
Brimming with spirit, exploding with heart.
Its never the winning, its just taking part.
But soul is malignant, victory teased.
The essence of every component diseased.
Such an illusion. Such a mirage.
My penalty suffered for dreaming is large.
Back-slapping, handshakes and kudos are paid.
My digested sunshine is blackened in shade.
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