To lay lips upon,
It stumbled into a dream or two.
But so does everyone at some point
In my sleep cycle, in the days of my life.
Once or twice, I have kissed a friend.
Three or four, I've killed someone.
And more often than not,
I do not dream.
It's a blessing when I sleep in a void,
There is no one to hurt and hurt me back.
There is no reason for beheading,
And no reason for futile stitches.
When the dreams come in, roiling my peace,
I look for my pillow to rest my head upon,
Or a face to press my lips unto.
Yet all I find when I muster my courage,
Is a cold block beneath my head and neck,
And a sharp blade hurdling towards me,
Separating the problem from its root.
E.