Buried Dreams

I sometimes dream of a gaping hole through my stomach, a woman with nettles and thorns for hair and snow like skin crawls out of me, she speaks to me of lost ambitions and teases me of the perfect future while she dances round dead flowers and rotted leaves, ash falls from the sky, blood poors from my eyes, she whispers to me in a crackling snarled voice that this bed of hypodermic needles that I lay in is my final resting place. She grabs my face and turns it to my left, all the people that I have ever hurt are standing beside me their faces blank and eyes are black slowly burying me in the ash that's fallen from the sky she whisper in her crackling snarl goodbye.