This has pretty much become my favorite poem that I have written, for the moment anyhow.  It's in three parts arranged by date because, well, it was written in three separate parts, all of them in actuality Saturday nights.  The dates are not factual, but they give the impression of the passage of time, which is important because there are things which take place in between the Saturdays which factor heavily into the poem.  The point of it at first was that I was at work on a Saturday night and I was not feeling happy about that.  The customers, as usual, were horrible, I was tired, I was in pain, I was pretty much miserable.  More so than usual also because at the time, I was actually nursing what I hoped would turn into some sort of relationship with someone I liked very much.  Thus, May 19 is filled with the sense that things are very much going well between us, and that even though I can't very well bear the situation I am currently in on that night, I am at least comforted in the thought that just perhaps I will be able to see her and be with her when all is said and done and that will bring me some amount of happiness which has been a long time coming.  It is hopeful and grateful and full of the starry-eyed wonder of infatuation and the blossoming of what could be called love.  Skip ahead a week to May 26.  It's obvious that during that week, something has changed.  We were moving steadily towards a fairly obvious end, and then we stopped.  And decided we shouldn't.  And restrained ourselves from going any further down that path.  And it wasn't very kind on my fragile emotions.  Having finally found someone to return the wealth of emotion I have bottled up inside only to then be told to wait because the circumstances were not right, though I agreed because they really weren't, was rather devastating to my psyche.  Thus the beginning of the idea of being trapped in a nightmare and wishing to escape but lacking the ability to get out on my own.  This would be continued and expanded in June 16.  So now three more weeks have passed.  And this is pretty much the swan song of what once had been bright promise.  Now deep within the clutches of despair once more, I can't help but think that this nightmare, which is what the title means in Latin by the way, this unholy reality is some sort of aberration, and that I need to be rescued from it by some sort of super hero, something more than ordinary because this is no ordinary construct.  I needed someone, something, to save my soul from this pit it was dragging itself slowly into, and the one person I had placed most of my faith in to accomplish the job turned down the offer.  So there's alot of personal history in this one that might not make much sense, other than these are things that happened between us in our times together.  And the rest is alot of fancy of what might have been as opposed to the reality of what is.  It's another Saturday night, and nothing has changed.

(P.S.- she actually did stop by one Saturday night many months later with her friend, and it was truly bizarre.  I was going to add a part four to this poem, but I decided against it, because I feel like I had already said what needed to be said and having her show up would only stretch the poem beyond its credible limits.)