William, it was really nothing

I am constantly paranoid. Seeing visions of my own death.

Eyes closed in sleep fire covers the sky. Red, burning, flames licking my senses heightened. Open eyes from this dream and still see an aura of piercing crimson.

Walking down the street i see a truck turn a corner and tip, crushing me, decapitating me. The head rolls and bounces and lands at an onlookers feet. I slam my eyes shut, removing myself from this prophecy. They slowly open and in reverse the truck aligns itself with the road, my head rolls back and the sinews and tissue fuse together. I touch my neck and not a mark is to be found.

I take a step further and a sign falls of my head, i fall off the balcony, i’m stabbed by a herion induced case of psychosis.

All i want is to die, peacefully, of old age in my sleep, for a belief i’ve suffered every other kind of death.