Sleep

I have recurring nightmares. The same scenarios repeat themselves every time:

I am confronted by my regrets
of the depths of hell.
My friends can't be saved,
no matter how many I kill.
I'm filling everything in sight with lead.
It comes naturally.
Death, sketched in chrome.
This is what I was bred for.
I'll put a smile on your face without a joke,
but wouldn't dare animate my own.

I find myself in a dimly-lit bedroom,
not unlike the one I slept in, as a child.
Some apparition calls me closer.
I don't recognize this woman.
"What do you want?"
You already know.
"Who are you?"
You don't remember.

I've been trying so hard,
to say goodbye to yesterday,
but it lingers onto tomorrow.
Progression is devolving,
revolving, around me,
as I two-step to the steam whistle
screaming in my subconscious.
I am free falling through second chances,
never finding one to hold on to.

I got shot.
But I did not face my fear,
I embraced it.
Realizing every time had its instant,
I saw mine to be fast approaching.
I sat propped up against a wall
in some broke dopedealer's home,
those two motherfuckers whose heads I blew off
are staining my shelltoes red.
I never felt so lonely,
but I guess that was to be expected.
I smiled,
might as well give em something to remember me by.
I held onto my beloved Beretta,
until I had to let go.
Silence fell like snowflakes in July.

I don't think I'm going crazy. Though I might be losing my mind, according to my own accord, my understanding thereof may give away my own lies. I only speak the truth, but what of sight?