Beksinski's Curse

I awaken with a sudden gasp,
As a silent scream escapes my lips.  
My heart beats heavy in my chest:  
A dream, into reality, slips.  
  
The hairs are raised upon my back,  
As my body aches with fright;  
I sit there petrified, awake...  
Alas! Another sleepless night.  
   
I cannot sleep in peace, it seems,  
As I'm haunted by these hellish scenes,  
That creep into my deepest dreams,  
And tear me at my weakest seams.  
   
And so, I paint the perfect picture,  
Like a photograph for the world to see,  
Of the land of death and decay,  
Which dwells so deep inside of me.  
   
One night whilst I lay in bed,  
Just as I was drifting off to sleep,  
I felt an awful sense of dread—  
A certain darkness looming over me.  
   
That night I dreamed of my own death,  
But it seemed so real to me this time;  
I could feel the reaper’s icy breath,  
As she locked her lips with mine.  
   
The light escaped my emerald eyes,  
As I took my final, labored breath;  
Eclipsing me in eternal darkness  
—the cold embrace of death.  
   
Suddenly…  
 
Awakened by a stabbing pain!  
A knife dug deep into my skin;  
I feel my life begin to wane,  
As it lacerates the veins within.  
   
My life flashed before my eyes,  
As my vision was eclipsed.  
I had seen my own demise  
In the reaper's icy kiss.  
   
Lying lifeless on the bed,  
My mattress painted crimson red;  
Like the hellish scenes inside my head  
—A gruesome picture of the dead.  
   
The ending of this tragic story...  
Painted in this final scene.  
All that remains of me is my artistry:  
My window to the obscene.