I wake up in tears most nights. I dream about death, and gunshots
And I wonder if anyone would cry if they lost me
Would the world be any less happy if I wasn't in it?
I witness souls leave bodies in my sleep
Can I really call that rest?
And every time I wake up, I try to remember
I ask myself why my dreams feel so real
Why death comes naturally to me, yet I struggle with the concept of life?
It's like waking up with bruises and wondering who you were fighting in your sleep
But the fight isn't in your sleep
It's in your mind.
And it never ends
You just wake up with scars and can only wonder if you won this fight
Or if it'll continue the next time you lay your head to rest
And maybe the next time you'll sleep is when they lay your body to rest
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