I once had a dream
Though I’m not even sure if it’s a dream
I was in this forest, see
It was cold, damp, and foggy
With me was my Dahlia, dressed in white
My oh so pretty Dahlia
She was just standing right there
Far from me, and we both couldn’t move
As if time had died for the both of us
And she was shaking her head
Uncontrollably, violently, shaking her head
I knew she was crying
Wait, was she crying?
Or was she just bleeding through her eyes?
I don’t know, but there was blood all over her
Then, right in front of us was a wolf
Black fur, eyes drenched in vermillion
It—or he?—was staring at me, growling
And then, it—or he?—began to grin
I looked the wolf in the eyes
They were fiery, like windows to hell
And the wolf kept on grinning,
Its sharp teeth like demonic horns
I don’t know, but it seems like
The wolf is there physically in front of me
But its soul—or his?—was trying to **** my Dahlia
To strip her of her innocence
Not to mention her clothes
But of course, dreams are severed by waking up
And I did wake up, to the smell of decaying flesh
With dried-up blood painted all over my skin
I turned around, and there she was
My Dahlia, cold and lifeless
Like her heart
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
I once had a dream
Though I’m not even sure if it’s a dream
I was in this forest, see
It was cold, damp, and foggy
With me was my Dahlia, dressed in white
My oh so pretty Dahlia
She was just standing right there
Far from me, and we both couldn’t move
As if time had died for the both of us
And she was shaking her head
Uncontrollably, violently, shaking her head
I knew she was crying
Wait, was she crying?
Or was she just bleeding through her eyes?
I don’t know, but there was blood all over her
Then, right in front of us was a wolf
Black fur, eyes drenched in vermillion
It—or he?—was staring at me, growling
And then, it—or he?—began to grin
I looked the wolf in the eyes
They were fiery, like windows to hell
And the wolf kept on grinning,
Its sharp teeth like demonic horns
I don’t know, but it seems like
The wolf is there physically in front of me
But its soul—or his?—was trying to **** my Dahlia
To strip her of her innocence
Not to mention her clothes
But of course, dreams are severed by waking up
And I did wake up, to the smell of decaying flesh
With dried-up blood painted all over my skin
I turned around, and there she was
My Dahlia, cold and lifeless
Like her heart
