That Feeling.

I'd rather be cold than burning up.
Burning up in monstrous flames
That sizzle black and red
Peeling away at my skin in
Curling ribbons
And dissolving my bones
Leaving the lace of regret
To suffocate my insides
And drag me into untold tales of cotton covers.

Reoccurring nightmares weave
Through my scrambled brain
mixed with pills to make me numb
and stich the plastic wounds
Saving the blood to be shed
For a later time.

But I don't want the stitches.
I want the trauma to rip open
Spill all of my blood infested secrets
leaving me to die from the inside out
In red spidery rivers.