Gone
I dreamt of you last night
I thought you had finally left me...
A commotion and my heart skittered
Pattering nervously, perhaps even foreboding
I pulled my cold, silver knife from my pocket
You were demanding the money
From the register,
The cashier begging you to leave
But I snuck up behind you
Whispering horrible, unreal words
Into your ear
Knife to your throat I cut
Demanding that you leave us.
Blood everywhere... and its YOU
Gun on the floor and shaking hands
Please don't leave me...