The End of Dreams

Last night I dreamt the end of dreams,
Might escape with failure, conjure,
I awoke to pain within my belly,
When the clock struck merely four,

I dreamt fire spewed from my skin,
That settled red and cracked
On my right bicep and left thigh,
Though it left each nerve intact,

It was not an hour later,
The burn marks appeared larger,
The doctor wished to chop my limbs,
Said “there are no joyous martyrs”,

So my father and the doctor,
Took a hacksaw big and rusty,
And sliced me up to half a man,
Held by brass clasps (shouldn’t trust me),

So I sobbed and hobbled with gracious limp,
And lamented infection and woe,
Till I lamely wrote with one left hand,
Some words before I go,

There was only the dullest daggers,
And a gun near with bullets far,
So I hopped offside a golden bridge…
Last night I dreamt the end of dreams.