My Dream

Once I had a dream. One in which a fly sought solace in my eye ball, or between the lid and they eye, at least. It wasn’t too pleasant, especially when the tiny insect began to grow ... and for some reason I happened to be standing in front of a mirror, helplessly watching as the inquisitive creature crawled about the pupil, the iris; sometimes even taking a wonder to the faraway land of the retina. The fly thrived and grew to gargantuan proportions until exploding. Black, ink-like-blood spewed out, Niagara Falls-esque and consumed my eye, enveloping the pupil and everything surrounding it, leaving me  resembling a Buffy the Vampire-Slayer-like-Demon. The dream ended.

What does this disturbing, Salvador Dali like experience say about my character? To me it screams morbid, death consumed and possibly slightly psychotic. 

HELP. ME.