I danced solo with dementia today,
and she laughed and said that I was…OK,
she said that I shouldn’t worry so much,
that all was going well in “our” private little hell.
When I asked her to explain that last obscure line,
She just grinned a shameless grin, and haughtily said,
that I worry far too much, and that everything would be fine.
She went on to say some more really strange things… and
how that I really should stop chasing those hollow images in my head.
For she reminded me, they are forgotten ghost conjured up from the dead.
I asked her to stop this insanities trip that she has wrought on me,
And to lift these strange dreams and set my weary mind free.
But she just laughed… even harder still, that sent through my blood a chill.
And then eerily, she leaned her body austere next to me,
and placed, her bloodless lips upon mine and said…
“Free, you will never be free, For I am dementia, and I am you,
and you are me…and together we shall be as long as you comfort
in the dark chambers of the boudoir of my mind.”
J. Allen Wilson © 2004