Sorry mom

I dream of being stabbed ,
I awake in the nightmare of bloodless sheets,
But my eyes tear of a memory that felt oh so real .

Wonder is what has my mind racing ,
Questioning if my mothers books will be read one day.

How to deal with the death of a child.

Is it sad that I dream of death , romanticize being killed ,
Just to see if someone will care ,
Give me affection and see the true me in the last grasps for air.

Death , death , why is death the only thing I love to fear , and fear to love.

Maybe I was unfit to live , to weak , timid and shy ,
But ,
But , why do I say but , there's no but , but the but to the but of the sentence ,
But I fear ,
Oh I fear ,
That those books will be read ,
And I'll be the catalyst as to why