My Irregular Heartbeat

Hundreds among thousands upon dozens. All day. Everyday. Just out of the black.
Irregardless, it's a whole other story, for a whole other day.
Untill then, night-dreams about suicide, and day-dreams about homicide, all while my nose is filled with vanilla.

This is an enigma wrapped in a riddle wrapped in a puzzle. I can never tell. Can you? Or any other magician for that matter? Those are sleight of hand though, not the height of mind. Mind you, it all turns to dust in the end.

Nastallion.
Nästallion.
Nastallion.