I woke from a gruesome nightmare
this morning; the mirror laughed
at my bloodshot eyes, the bags underneath
more curved than the road to hell.
For once, the nightmare was not
about you, and I'm thankful that,
even if your death, you were spared
from being used as a pawn.
I remember the ruby and crimson
in every crevice, a sturdy knife
sweating in my right hand,
as I hacked off every pulsating
membrane webbed in front of me.
As time passed, I feared I would
suffocate, or the walls would close
in, and the creator of the maze
would never show me mercy.
I kept misjudging my steps,
afraid I wasn't smart enough
to figure out the right direction.
But, I made it.
I saw the end.
I reached a world in normal shades
of variance, instead of the shocking
hemorrhage of an unhinged mind.
I woke up with body aches and
my nerves on edge -
and what I wouldn't give
to be comforted by you.
One nightmares ends, and I
start my day having to process
everything anew.
Losing you may not have the
fear and violent colors of
what my mind conjures at night,
but that pales in comparison
to the emptiness I feel,
the absence of color and purpose
in a reality where I can't
feel you in my arms.
