Memories Of Blood

I awake remembering

nothing the next day, 

my nostrils assailed 

by the stench of decay 

Dreams of dismemberment, 

fantasies of torture 

Mopping up affords me a 

reminiscense of death; 

Gooey bits and pieces 

are all that is left 



Stench of rot: uplifting smell

Someone's dead or at least unwell; 

What little is left smells impure; 

Who did this? I'm not sure 



No conscience interferes with 

my memories of blood; 

PSI energy remains 

where a human once stood;

I equate its suffering with 

the longevity of a ghost 

Who lasts the longest 

is who suffered the most