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The following account predicated on partial fact and a healthy dose of prevarication with an attendant overactive imagination.

Trying to REM ember the waking stage of an emotionally tormenting dream

One week later
still dog-tired after jarring telephone ordeal
(seven days ago from April 30, 2025)
with fake government employees,
yours truly still emotionally haggard
trembling and wretched
closely following on the figurative heels
of FaceBook account of mine getting hacked,
whereat my psyche got hijacked to Cuba.

I fell prey to innocuous text messages
sent to my FaceBook messenger account
by person(s) unknown,
which promised a boatload of money
one quick get rich scheme
supposedly no strings attached
of course the wary and suspect
immediately read thru the lines,
and saw the scam for what it was.

I learned the hard way
courtesy supposed special federal agent
Carlos A. Briano linked into
hashtagged badge identification 437409,
who tried to implicate me
and/or in conjunction
with criminals on the loose,
who stole my identity
for egregious purposes
such as money laundering
and selling illegal contrabands.

Official sounding acronyms
bandied about (to and fro,
hither and yon) in tandem
with interjected convincing sounding
emphatic threats of jail time
gave muscle and heft,
and ample material to mine
for months worth of telehealth therapy
courtesy CHE Behavioral Health Services.

No police people
came knocking on our door
one bedroom apartment unit labeled b44
coming to take me away
to be imprisoned
with heavily pierced
and tattooed criminals
hashtagged as hardcore
bullying, once upon a time a wimpy kid,
who grew into an older shy
Norwegian Bachelor farmer
frequently and nevertheless repeatedly
targeted by fraudsters,
which psychological torture
attributed to series of unfortunate events -
mainly unfairly accused
as complicit and accessory
of serious offenses
found yours truly
to be falsely accused
courtesy stolen identity (mine)
brutalized by nasty and short thugs
while behind bars,
where accidentally linkedin
with high crimes and misdemeanors
eventually inured me against punishment
(videre licet pummeled
into matted pulp) de jure
factor post traumatic stress
a major reason without rhyme
explaining current resultant languor
with just energy and panhandle
holding up a placard reading
"please help me Mister Postman, 
cuz I am poor."
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