Veins

My dreams are re-told stories that swamp my mind while I sleep.

They're all violent,

but never entwine in one another.

 

One.

I'm smothered.

Strong, vein-bulging arms lock as they push a pillow over my purple face.

You can hear the contact of my hand and the arms,

loud smack after smack.

Until they slow themselves and my arms caress the other pair as they weaken.

This doesn't seem so bad.

 

Two.

I have 16 light, egg white colored pills in one trembling hand.

M body doesn't have the urge or will to do what I so desperately want to do.

I need to do.

My My mouth salivates at an extreme raite,

wanting to taste the death that awaits me.

But I kiss the pills away with a toss to the trash bin.

I slump over as my salt-filled tears stream past my nose.

 

Three.

I'm running for my life as a hooded figure follows me through a dark field.

The moon reflects a light you could almost mistake as the sun.

The field is filled with rusty evergreens and oak.

The roots rot,

making most stumps hide away to the side.

The field is obviously just brown dry grass that seems to decay more as I stare.

As I am observing,

I feel the hooded figure stand right behind me.

The night is warm,

it's summer.

There is no breeze. 

The air is still and no crickets chirp.

It is only my heavy breathing, 

and their heart half-beating.

I'm on another planet.

Almost.

Pluto gravitates towards me.

It is no surprise.

As I turn around, 

I see myself watching the eyes of the figure.

Watching the strangling and pill popping ignite into a dark blue flame.

I'm looking at my own eyes. 

I never wake.

 

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