There was blood.

I was alright, as I laid asleep,
Then suddenly the wound ripped,
And it started to bleed,
First the body dripped in blood,
Then the pillow, then the sheet.

I was in writhing in pain so much,
Tried, I couldn’t even scream,
The blood started spilling; drop-by-drop-by-drop,
Every ounce wanted to ooze out of my frame.
I were to drown in my own pool of blood.
And my bed was to become my own grave.

I struggled like a slayed lamb,
But I could barely lift my hand,
In fear I didn’t even dared to cry,
I knew only blood were to come out of my eyes,
There was more blood over me, than left inside,
I had started tasting crimson, by now,
I knew I wasn’t going to survive.

My will to live, had lost to my dead bodily fluid,
So I succumbed, accepted my defeat,
A thought ran through the mind : This Is It.
If I were to be killed my own blood,
Then let it be.
And suddenly it wasn’t so painful anymore,
I closed my eyes, and it was liberating.
“Guy Killed By Red”,
I couldn’t have hoped for a death more exciting.

And then I woke up, and realized I was just dreamin’,
And instead of blood, it was sweat, I was drownin’ in.
Relieved I got up and stormed to the basin,
I splashed water on my face,
And took a huge sigh of relief,
Then in the mirror, suddenly I noticed,
The wound had ripped.
And it had started to bleed.

~RavS

## This poem was written after an actual nightmare. While it wasn’t as dramatic as I have tried to portray here, or even related to blood or dying, it was nightmarish enough to keep me awake and disturbed for several hours. People often wish “sweet dreams”. I only experience the weird or disturbing. ##