Waking up from my slumber,
Nothing less than a foggy brain.
Images shifted through my mind,
Memories played back.
It was me.
I realized that now.
I was the one getting hurt.
Prophetic and lucid nightmare dreams.
Slowly turning up in reality.
Blotches of bruises trails my body,
Cuts and blood decorating my skin.
Like a canvas.
Red splattered lines,
Is this my reality?
Has my dream turned into harmful reality?
Wounded and hurt.
Scars were the evidence.
Only time could unfold my mysterious precognitive dreams.
But, its a physical price to pay for discovering it too late.
Just like finding a slash on a painted canvas.
I’m like that.