Terror holds no place in mine heart, not even as I am torn apart

In the haunting shade of dream, half-remembered things unseen.

Brutalized again I die, limbs from my bodies pried, and again I wake with open eyes, to see the same familiar skies, I breathe again now post-demise. Now I ask... Why?

How can I know these terrible things? The mortal pain dismemberment brings

In brutality my subconscious sings, black soul soaring on broken wings

Choked, shot, stabbed, burned. All these scars I've honestly earned

But crushed, drowned, speared and torn asunder? These are the pains that make me wonder

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Just how many times have I truly died? Memories of the soul trapped inside?

Visions of a future meant to turn the tide? Or merely old pains brought to light?

Forget the pain, though I never shall, we all know that I'm not fully well.

What of the this absence of fear? Despite death drawing ever near

I dream in rationale numeric, what surer sign is there that I'm 'sick?'

I know stress without worry, my critical mind refuses to hurry.

Emotion has no place in my sleeping mind, even awake I must make the time

to feel. Mundane reality such a boring meal.

Loved once and never more, living in grey such a chore, my heart shattered without its paramour

Was I always broken so deeply? A man with feelings? How unseemly.

To ask is to answer, I once thought of love as a cancer.

She grew my heart to record size but took it with her when she died

And now I am hollow, the truth of my weakness bitter to swallow.

I lived in life but a single day, how cruel it is to have that taken away.