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...

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