Reality vs Nightmares

The dream with the gun in my mouth doesn't wake me in a fit of tears and sweat. It notifies me of itself as I roll over, re-fluff my pillow, and sigh, wondering if my mind will create anything new for the remaining hours of the night.

But it’s the dreams of the gun in your mouth that make me scream and scratch at my ever bleeding skin. The vividness is haunting. The reality is terrifying.

I close my eyes, scratch my scalp, and pray for the dreams of old; my gun, my hand, my mouth.

Your sad, brown eyes look past the barrel of the gun and into my green ones. It’s the look in them that scream for help, begging for me to tell you to stop. I want you to stop. I tell you to stop. But instead, I’m sorry leaves my lips and a loud pop shoots me into consciousness where I am forced to sit and wonder if what I witnessed is true.

I am unable to sort out reality and dreams.

I walk to the nightstand. My arms are bleeding, my cheeks are wet. I reach for the gun. It’s not shaking in my certain hands as I open my mouth.

I pull the trigger.

I wake up.

I repeat.