waiting

I'm still waiting for the axe to fall on my head for what I did, all those years ago.

I'm still waiting for my father to come and kill me, cause I opened my mouth and told and now the reality's back out there. I can't escape what he did. I can't run away and hide anymore, and I can't go back to what I was.

Why am I here? Don't know. It's another series of bad dreams, really. Thing is, you don't have to be asleep to have them. These dreams come out in the daytime as fast as they come in the darkness. I crave the edge of steel to hold. Sliding through my skin, it doesn't even hurt.

The hurting comes later. When the dream fades. When the exhaustion hits. When I hear the echoes of a long-gone voice saying "my god, what have you done?"