you don't exist when
my eyes are open
you don't exist when
my blood's not poisoned
when my soul's at peace
when my gut is full
and when I'm in company

So you exist most of the time
dear muse

suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option
suicide is not an option

DREAMING OF BEING REAL

I waited with
the bubbles

to cross the street.

One big bubble
winked at me.

It had a rainbow
just off-key of its center

like a Cyclops
eye.

'Bye! ' it blinked
and went out of existence.

I felt sad.
I had really liked that bubble.

My daughter
waiting for red to go green

continued blowing
families of bubbles.

some of the bubbles
crossed the road

before the lights
changed

and got hit by a 69
bus.

Others busted
on a lady's hat

but the lady didn't
notice it.

One hitched a ride
on an exclamation mark

pretending to be
a dog's tail.

Two little baby bubbles
travelled over on my shoulder.

Some newly blown bubbles
dashed across the road

leading delightedly
the way.

Others disappeared up
into a blue so blue

(you wouldn't believe it)  

as if summer
was trying to be

a perfect picture postcard
of itself.

'Hold my hand now, love! '
the father in my voice

tinged the words
with love and care.

'Ok! '
my daughter said

trusting the words
the bubbles in the bottle

fell asleep
and dreamed of being

real.