Dream Sequence Number 3 (The Presence)

All is silent
A silence as certain and distant as peace
There is a friend in my home who is not friend
This should be my old compa Jorge who would often visit
Stay the night, rap and make art with me
On the sides of buildings, and over passes, and banks
Not ever on anything independently owned
Nothing without a purpose or a genuine question
And nothing without art
Jorge laughs like fireworks look, and there's always fun around the corner of his smirk

A friend is here, but it is not my friend
It is disguised in a disgusting mask of flesh
Swollen and puffy and it doesn't fit his real face
A darkness peering from black eyes and
I'm trying to keep it cool, casually taking in information of this rotten
Bloated presence over my shoulder
I cannot face him
When I look back I am terrified by what I feel and my words fall like molasses
I slowly return to the task at hand
He doesn't move a fraction, a vision of malice, fossilized in amber
I'm washing the dishes
Eyes in my back like thorns, the most intense leer
Like the soft tap of spider's legs that want in

This day is weeks and months and these years just a sunny afternoon outside
I come and go, I'm busy and I'm only stopping in to leave
This unfriend living in my home
With my family, my mother, my younger sister and our pets
It is a tepid but constant squalor in the downstairs
Is this what happens to a dream deferred?
I maneuver carefully through the byproducts of this spirit's wretched intent
With casual talismans
Masks and drums and décor
I am cleaning and organizing
Washing the dishes again
Behind me he is a grotesquerie of intent
A masterpiece of some sick artist who's left his greatest work to stand and
Watch me
I tell him he can't stay
He'll be needing to leave immediately
I continue working on the basement's floors
You can't stay
Shelves
You can not stay
Cracks
You must
Closets
You will leave
And the walls, the walls are what stand out
I'm talking with my mom and kissing her forehead
And just then I'm under her bedroom in the downstairs
Right underneathe where she lays and I'm hanging a mask
I know it is gone
There is a slow silence like the most beautiful new snow
There is light here and I awake