fell in love with death

He jolts awake. Springs from his bed and wretches the blankets clung to him, grasps the edge of the bed in a ghost-white grip and gasps for oxygen. His breath is uneven and ragged, his pupils unfocused and shaking, his heart thundering against his ribcage in a harsh rhythm that makes his ears bleed. Instinctively, his right-hand slide up his neck and traces the long scar carved on his skin. It’s rough yet unsettling calm under his touch and his body calms slowly down. But, there’s still a visible tremble in his body as his pupils start to shift into focus. It’s dark. He can’t see a thing, yet he gets up anyway, slides down his bed and stumbles. He’s barely standing but tries to walk anyway. The cool floor beneath his bare feet helps. Helps him to not think about the nightmare, the memory. His fingers are still on the scar, tracing the memories caught along the cracks of his skin. And he can taste her kisses, feel her touches, smell her. The smell of death. Rotting bluebells rushing into his nostrils, stealing each breath of his. And he can remember vividly how her bony hands grazed his cheek. Bitter cold. Yet, each part of his body aches with heat, and there are burnt dead stars on the tip of his tongue that blazes closer with each stolen breath. He staggers in his steps, about to tip over and crash when he catches himself. The memory of her is like a shot of bullet, piercing through the air and heading for him, and there is no escape. Then, out of spite he catches it with his bare teeth. But, the force is too great and propels him backwards knocking the air out of him. Shatters his teeth, and he's smiling blood.

He's alive, he's dead.