I want to do something dangerously impulsive

Reality slips

through the cupped palms of my mind.

I'd rather not Be

.

"be what?" I don't know.

I crave fantasy worlds and

you make me feel real.

Corpses of the past

rise and walk the overworld.

They crave Player flesh.

.

Lurking beneath waves,

the drowned wait to pull sailors

to watery graves.

.

Buzzards peck away

at the hollow husks of men

buried in the sand.