DREAMS poem

Here's another poem. Shoot, I know.
I keep writing poems... when all I really ought to be doing is reading novels and essays for school...

DREAMS OF YOU

I.
Us at dusk: I hand you an axe.
You slam it through
the sinews of my neck
till my head falls straight
into my left arm.
As you fling the axe away, we walk
out of the woods hand in hand,
head in hand.

I still can see.
I blink and speak,
though my shirt sops red.

II.
At school, I stand at the chalkboard writing
with my right hand, which is always wrong:

WORNG WORNG WORNG

No matter. You tell me
I'll never spell wrong right.

III.
In my kitchen, I take
a fork from the drainer.
You reach in the fridge
and get some milk. “Go on,”
you say. I point toward my wrist—
fight the urge to force the fork through.
Someone pounds on the front door.

IV.
Back in the woods, I drop
my head in the leaves. As
someone approaches—you
hide. He picks my head
up, sees into the eyes,
and sets that crown back on my neck.
Blood still drips, but it fits.
It doesn’t
fall.

*
These "dreams" aren't really dreams I've ever had--except, perhaps, daydreams... I've been trying to combat the lies that keep coming into my thoughts and I decided that, if I could write about/imagine someone else battling these things and realizing the truth and strength outside of his/her own power, I might know the truth better myself...