Wanderlust

Is it bad, my love, that I see death in my wake? Death creeps towards me in the short moments my eyes shut, a blink. I dream, wait no, no. My night dreams are peaceful. It’s the day dreams that horrify me. They want me dead, dear. They want the gun between these lips you said you couldn’t get enough of [but you had enough of]. And they want these fingers you once said you’d never let go of [but you let go of] to pull the trigger. These day dreams, that come and go in the blink of an eye, [the eyes you said you could stare into forever, but now you can’t even meet] they want my blood splattered on the wall. 

Should I cave in, love?