I killed you in my sleep, last night,
The spade beat back the scissors,
and for all that it was dull
it cut through flesh like tearing
cloth,
smooth, sweet, clean...
Your mind was not your own,
fulfilling the vendetta of
another.
Did I know that you were guilty,
I who was a witness to your crimes,
or was my judgement warped
by those who screamed your culpability?
You were murdered by the monster
in your mind,
Though my hand slit your throat
...over, and over, and over...
While we ran through the multi-shaded rooms,
pushing obstacles aside,
I tried to speak to you,
but you would not hear.
I have done murder in my dreams,
and you, my friend, have felt it.















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