Clammy and Spent Death Has Climbed Off Me

So many dead bodies have climbed up on and down off me where my head rests it is wet there and clammy. The smell of it when plunging deep into sleep feeling by the depth I can taste what I see as it came and went in my dream. If I can't see, it can see me other's rested here in death, death is a dream a dream few have shared. Low I may lay and it's humid and hot I can't catch my breath while the red chili hot peppers down my neck have long since left. Dead not in death though through the living there not as one after another they climb up and get off.