Nothing is Real

I sit here in the dark on a vast lake in a boat
which barely floats as the water pours
in,

I bale and I bale and I bale....

A fog surrounds me,tendrils
of cold condensed vapor caress my skin
prickling...

I hear whispers talk to me from a vast distance
carried to my ear  on the cool night air.

Should I listen to what the voices speak
What do they speak?

Their language is foreign to my ears
but the meaning settles into me.

Need.

It is I who need...can't you see I'm baling
this water which continues to collect in
the bottom that is my boat?

Perhaps the whispers are merely a reflection;
a hope personfied in the reality of my own making.

A dream within a dream they say.
Even I cannot hope for such a reality as that.

Besides what dream would I wake from,
and who would I be?

Better off...?

If we are the sum of our dreams...
then I am lost...I desperately hope that
nothing is real.

Then perhaps one day I can start with
something that is real enough
to get by.