Every night that same cursed dream
Sweat
Tears
Sometimes even blood from scratching yourself
Hurting yourself
For them
Whilst waiting for them to hurt you
Every once in a while someone close to you
Loyal to you
Will wake you up
Thankfulness
And loathing
You don't know how to trust
You don't love
And you're waiting for the day of their awakening
Waiting for them to realize just how much of a fraud you are
Incidentally, this also constitutes the theme of your nightly horrors
The reckoning
Your undoing
The people gathered around you holding rocks or whips or pieces of panel wood
Some of them, those who used to love you
Listen to you
Their disappointment is what frightens you the most, apart from the pain
...so you lash out
Furious
When the bastards dare disturb your sleep
Your only moments of truth
Of being true to them
To yourself
Like a brilliant speech interrupted by an egg
And so in response you play the destroyer, because that is all you know
Because you're nothing but a child caught in wrongdoing
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