The Dream

Last night i awoke with a start,
confused and dazed, engulfed in fear,
scared to bits reduced to tears.
About your death, love and intentions i dreamt,
a secret, a crime, hidden you've kept.

In a room flooded with hues of crimson you led,
parading me through punctured hearts dead.
I saw their anguished feelings lie still,
as i write this down my thoughts they fill.
They warn me about being another 'kill'.

You showed me your deaths and victories posed,
hanging on walls, amidst bouquets of rose.
On coming closer, this my naked eyes see,
those flowers, none roses be.
Just regular blossoms scattered with crimson seas.

I realised then what this dream meant,
T'was from the punctured hearts a warning sent.
I looked around for a way to escape,
figure out how in all this did any sense i make.
was i a victim or victor in the role i played.

And in that dream i saw
you holding on to the rope,
tugging hard, getting choked.
You didnt realize the more you pulled,
the tighter it hung around you.

But when you did realize, it was too late,
your breathing stopped, senses impaired.
Crying out for help, you looked at me,
only to notice the rope you were pulling
was in reality me.

What you didn't realize honey was this
those clues in the rooms i would not miss.
You were leading me on, like the others long gone.
So as i look u in the eyes pleading me for release,
I remember the punctured hearts beckoning me.

Those hearts at once disappear in the distance,
claiming their place in spaces of crimson.
Where regular blossoms, now true roses appeared,
all bowing to the place where your body lay covered.
Then as i said before, i awoke with a start.