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