Holding My Wreath

I lie flat on my back and feel the world spin.
Not sure if its real or I’m just dreaming.
Could hear a pin drop but there ain’t no sound.
When I open my eyes everything gets loud.
Like my senses get overloaded.
My temper flares as if I’m goaded.
Prevented from being me and free.

Stand on an edge and look straight down.
If I was a king I’d lose my crown.
For this void below scares the heat out of me.
Leaving me frozen like a month old dead body.
Then I stir from slumber to see I’m alive.
Another bad dream chipping at my drive.
Crucifying every scrap that is mine.

Divided by these efforts which are manifest.
Stripping off of me all that has been best.
Watering me down until I’m a husk.
Then murdering my future with twisted lust.

Treachery is getting deeper.
What stands before is a reaper.

Change out my visions for they are a curse.
I see a red wagon followed by a hearse.
Smiles are wide and showing sharp teeth.
Viciousness behind the eyes of those holding my wreath.
With pockets full of hand grenades.
Innocence replaced by rusted blades.
Last kiss is death dragging me into this abyss.