Reflection

As I lay here
Trying to sleep
I think about my past
The things that make me
What I am today.

My eyes fall closed
As I slip away into
My dreams.

I’m sitting alone,
Next to a pond
Biding my time
In an endless field of lilacs

Feeling a cool drop on my hand
I thought it was raining
But a glance at my hand
Would tell me otherwise.
What I had fathomed to be rain
I understood was blood
The small crimson puddle crawled across my palm
Until it was interrupted by another drop.

I bent over the pond
Looking into the water for an answer.
There was my answer
Staring back at me.
The flesh on my cheek
Was torn open
Spilling blood into the water.
As I watched the ripples,
Another cut appeared across from the first
Ripping open,
Spilling blood.
More and more cuts appeared
Ripping and spilling.
Yet there was no pain,
No sharp bite of cool air on open wound.

One after another
They kept coming.
Ripping and spilling.
And all I could do,
Was watch
And wonder what was happening to me.

Then, suddenly
A pain so great,
It could never be matched
I felt along my wrists.

I looked,
Only to see two perfect cuts
Opening my wrists,
Spilling my blood to the earth around me.
The pain was getting worse
Like nothing I had ever known.

I screamed for help
But the only answer I got
Was the echo of my icy, bewildered scream.

It was then that I knew
That I was going to die
For sure.
Bleeding alone.
Pointlessly screaming for help
As tears streamed down my blood-soaked face
Alone and dying.

My eyes snapped open,
As I sat up in my bed
Beads of a cold sweat rolled down my face.

Franticly searching my face
Checking my wrists
Making sure I was still alive.

Breathing heavily, I began to shake
Remembering what I saw when I looked into the pond
And the pain as I watched my wrists being
Torn open by some unknown force.

Is that to be my fate?
Am I to die bleeding and alone?
Is that what my past has made me?