Aching flights of fancy

Listen, I said to no one in particular,
I want to fly down that mountain,
Soar on the wings of my soul and call valleys below names,
Paint some orange on the white floating clouds and make them rain as I go piercing through,
Fall flat into some lake between the mountains and rise frozen phoenix from the waters,
Then sit and wonder about life, my apparent loneliness midst our togetherness,
long nights of restless dreams and fantastical beasts who fail to get me through those  long night chases,
My heartbrokenness amidst the aching love of the mountains, the darkness within amidst the white and greens all around.
Call me names if you must, but don't call me back.

I used to

Yes, I used to dream, many dreams fantastical.

I used to laugh, I used to care and I used to love.

I used to gaze at twinkles, through endless dark nights.

Now on the days when the fog lifts and the moon shines through, reminisce is all I do.

I am the left over from a banquet, stale and foresaken. 

I can't leave and I have overstayed my welcome.

I am the crooked smile in a sea of grimaces.

I am the mad man sulking in the corner, enraged but smiling.

I am the nightmare that ends a night of fitful sleep.