A Dream Of Death

I dream of death so often I think I beckon it.

I tempt it.

I dream of death yet, just like everything and everyone else in my life, it seems to have no use for me other than taking what it wants and leaving me to suffer.

I dream of death so often I am starting to think I am it's bringer.

I dream of death being dark, painless, emotionless and peaceful.

Though as of yesterday that dream turned into an explosion of white feathers and plastic car bits.

Some moments death is taking a needle to my own vein and injecting oxygen.

Others it's grabbing the steak knife that tempts me every day and seeing what art I could make with such a gorgeous crimson.

There are a few dreams of death that remind me of moments in my life,like the loud bang of a bullet exiting the chamber and vaporizing everything it touches, putting me back in adrenaline filled hours, patching holes that are clean through.

My favorite dream of death though, is to simply vanish, to hope that as my lungs fight for air, and thoughts race through my mind, the dark, black, nothingness would finally take hold of me in its arms.

Emily Dickinson was known to romance death, I think I'm the next step.

My plan is to seduce death, entice it until it can no longer control itself but to ravage me.

I dream of death so often, sometimes it feels like a fairytale, and there is no Prince of Death to save me.