Sometimes I dream,
My 150 plus pound well-conditioned vessel laying in a twin sized mattress.
My worries are tired and put to rest.
So all that exist is nothing.

Obviously vulnerable as a priest without the knowledge of the spiritual realm.  
I am opened to something.
MY obstacle, My road block,
My own worst enemy, a stagnant mind.

The competitive demon, who fails to fall behind.
Strangled,
Mangled,
Tangled in a fit of rage.
Taking place in my once sweet fantasy.

As something that is dark, and mysterious wraps around my scrawny long neck.
While I toss and turn.
Wrapped in my bed sheets.
The realization is no longer complicated.
Yes, it’s me who is holding myself by the throat.
Shouting Die! Die! Die!

In my murderous dreams, I wake to freedom.
Where my mind is active, still intact.
Attached by strings.