I sleep with a fantasy,
a picture of perfection.
A masterpiece whom I love,
respect, and cherish beyond belief.

Only, my mind has begun to turn,
looking for all of his beauty,
inevitably led to the observations
of his imperfections.

An artistic idolized figure
my mind stupidly created.

For in a perfect creation,
doubt, skepticism, and fear
can therein fester.

Despite Love’s fantastic force,
flimsy and fanciful foundations for
relationships, theories, actions,
are such a malignant product.

I seek confirmation to a
question of the future,
but I fear the answer
my intuition knows I’ll receive.

I sleep with a fantasy,
feeling totally secure.
However, when we open
our eyes, awake to the world,
I only grow fearful.