31

I spent your birthday in self imposed bed exile.
16 hours of much needed dreaming.
I say this for two reasons:
I had so many dreams.
I haven't dreamt this much in awhile.
Dreams of psilocybin mushrooms.
A tooth abscess enclosed in the tissues of my jaw bone,
 the apex of an infected tooth's root spewing puss like a fountain.
The arena
of joy and sorrow happily cascading streams of vivid pictures
against my sleeping eyes
as in all to be a symphony singing
something special for something 
that happens just once a year. 
Something like a birthday that is at once so celebrated
and so deceivingly nostalgic
that it hurts too much
and you feel that you've been robbed of true beauty, 
but then the puss recollects in your mouth- and the 
beauty of fighting a true fight resurfaces all over again
and you feel as right as rain as right as rain as right as rain.