The Dying Dream

There's a constant
threat
of murder
in my sleep.

An unknown evil
that lurks
inside me.

It's hands
strangle me
when I dream.

I don't mind.

I'd rather
perish
in my sleep,
fuck
getting sawed in half.

But,
please don't kill me
when I'm dreaming
of work.

I can see my afterlife:
Me
in lingerie,
sticking hypodermic needles
in my veins,
filling them with
scolding hot oil,
feeling it
as it runs
through my body
and come out
of my
cock,
ass, mouth, nose,
and eyes.

Customers yelling at me,
telling me
they want to see
the manager
and tell him how
unsatisfactory
my customer service skills are.

Still I try to help,
but the pain is so
excruciating
I can barely
move,
I just stand there
watching myself
die
this morbid
death.

Then,
the manager finally comes
and tells me
I'm fired.

But I can't leave.

My feet have melted
to the ground
and I begin to
defecate
and urinate
all over myself.

The dream never dies.

Neither do I.

On second thought,
wake me up
and saw me
in half.