Dying in My Dreams

My aim is to no longer dream of my own destruction, for when I do I live in fear. And to live in fear is to stand still at the bottom of a Ferris wheel during a blood moon festival. To live in fear is to stand still at a November carnival. They come and go these opportunities to move. Yet year upon year I stay planted.

My aim is to no longer fight death in my nightmares. I used to die from physical harm but now I die from the humiliation, my mistakes. It’s all the same death I wake up before my last breath from. Strange how I never feel the pain, but my mind perceives it intensely. Strange how I never actually die. The panic wakes me up aggressively.

What if in my dreams I taunt my opponents? What if, like when I was a kid, I laugh while my demons beat me? What if I smile with the blood running from my teeth instead of being panicked, instead of begging them to stop. What if instead of my projection of hurt, I show that I don’t care? How do they break me then? 

What would my waking life be if I let death play out in my dreams? You know, I’ve never actually died there. What path would these dreams take if my mind’s fright turns to delight?

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