I had a dream. A dream of killing a cat.
A clingy black cat, innocent in every way.
Something about it made me mad,
so I grabbed it, choked it to death.
I ripped its limbs off, hid it in my clean clothes. 
Mother came home yelling to my sister;
"Why didn't you take better care of it?!"
it was such an angry and whiny voice,
to which my sister responded;
"I dont know!"
They thought the cat had ran away.
Hearing the tone of my mothers voice,
knowing i commited a crime,
gave me anxiety, and guilty pleasure.
I could feel myself smiling, a tiny chuckle came out.
I whispered to myself;
"pathetic."
My mother came to my room,
I was scared, I admit.
I thought she had found out that I killed the cat.
But why would I ever do such a thing?
Once my mother left, I felt a bit hopeless.
but pretty satisfied knowing she hadn't found out.
right at that moment i wanted to leave, run away.
I wanted to die.
no idea why.
Once I woke up, I was actually quite grateful.
grateful i hadn't gotten cought.
grateful that i had not committed a crime.
A dream is a dream,
what i did didn't actually happen.
but even once i awoke, 
I still felt hopeless.
but that's a normal feeling we all experience.
wouldn't get my hopes too high for my future,
when i'm sure, i may die before the age of 20.