The Sanguine Poem

I bleed optimism.

I used to build sand castles.
The wind, or my feet, 
would end the reign of my kingdom.
I also used to dream of ruling the world.
Now, I'm an insomniac.

I once went to college.
Yet, addicts
and
winos are consistently
my teachers.

I suffer from delusions
known as aspirations.
Mental breakdowns
dictate
my creativity.

I wish for a world drowned
with sand-
and soaked, so it becomes
malleable, with alcohol-and then maybe
this insomniac addled by drugs can create.

I suffer from delusions known as aspirations.