I have this fantasy where I am driving on the interstate and I am not daydreaming about crashing my car and being killed on impact

I have this fantasy where I have never spent a whole summer covering up my scars

I have this fantasy where I know my body and I am at peace with it

I have this fantasy where I never stopped making art because of what a teacher said to me when I was seventeen

I have this fantasy where I know how to write good poetry

I have this fantasy where I have never fallen in love with too many drug addicts

I have this fantasy where I am sleeping with a stranger for fun and not because I hurt

I have this fantasy where someone knows all the best parts of me

I have this fantasy where someone knows all the worst parts of me

I have this fantasy where I can say “I love you” out loud instead of just writing it down

I have this fantasy where I am giving my whole self to somebody else and they are not asking me for more

"hell yeah?" the burglar asked the pusher.

(the burglar: wirily, ambitious. plain appearance, dressed in black.
the pusher: wealthy, strong and well-conditioned. sumptuous leather jacket.)

"hell yeah", the pusher answered. "now i got what i like and you got what you need."

both grinned. after a day of extensive work, they relaxed in a hellish pub. it was visited by diplomatic creatures whose faces were recognizable like shadows.
this pub was called babylon 8.

the burglar and the pusher touched glasses to celebrate their deal. they drank.

"nothing to be written down",
the pusher added. burglar nodded. voices of the diplomatic creatures surrounding them; satanic sighs; bold laughter; their sentences sounded like orders that are dictated by judges.
  
snakes and rats. gravelpitbulls and red cats. creatures with excellent memory. guys who swallow their plans after they had learned them by heart.

a while later, a lady entered the pub: adorable like a man's fantasy; imitable like a woman's strategy. her hair color was your desire; her skin color the color of your dreams.
her name was fantasy girl.

suddenly, the lights went out; suddenly, a lightblue sun illuminated the room. no one noticed. everyone so busy hiding something that nothing was hid.
the creatures of babylon 8 therefore didn't perceive the light.

fantasy girl ordered a drink. she told the bartender: "i need freedom. that's what i want from you, the people of babylon 8."

the bartender a giant with a face full of shining scars; his right ear missing; flashy shirt; an ancient first name; speaker of all world languages combined: the omerta.

fantasy girl took a sip from a silver brew which had been served to her by the bartender. she took out a single match and there was no box; a long cigarette between her unknown lips.

bartender looked at fantasy girl. without saying a word, he turned his stubble cheek into her direction. fantasy girl lighted the match.
lightblue fire. inhaling. smoke. iceblue cloud.

the burglar and the pusher had been looking at fantasy girl all the time.
fantasy girl held a white fountain pen and took a black sheet out of a green handbag. she began to write.

Well she always keeps clean
And she’s up to date
And she never seems
To ever fake

She don’t take time to worry about the world

My life time fantasy girl
My lifetime fantasy girl

She can spot a liar
She’s a lady of faith
She can see for miles
Doesn’t have time to wait

She makes all my neck hairs curl

She’s my life time fantasy girl
My lifetime fantasy girl yeah

She’s my life time fantasy girl
She’s my life time fantasy girl
Life time fantasy girl
She’s my life time fantasy girl