Sleeping still

Sleeping, as every day passes me by,
I could not care less, as long as you reclose the door
As I dream of the scabs I've carried once before.
And sleeping, I sink my nails into my arms
To carry my scabs evermore.

Slowly, I fear; My dreams are closing in
As I have dreamt a massacre and awoke,
soked in my own blood, collecting pieces of my own skin
So my fascade, my muscle-memory, a mosaic,
much like my departed soul,
may be framed and hung upon my walls.