Another night comes,
And I shun the waning moon,
I try to sleep.
I have a dream,
I am falling, falling fast,
Falling toward the ground,
Where ever that is.
Now I am running.
Behind me is a mob of stolen men,
They are carrying torches, clubs, and tools.
I turn away to keep from tripping,
But when I turn back they are all
Copies of myself.
I find the world around me
Turning gray until
I find a door.
I open it and run into
The room with high windows.
I close the door and lock it.
My hands are covered in blood.
I fall into the black cloud
Of sleep.
I bolt upright, screaming,
I am in the bed within
The gray room.
The door is in clear detail now,
And written on the door
In my hand writing
Are the words:
"Stay inside, don't go out.
They will find you."
I curl up into a ball and wait for sleep.
When it comes,
Now it is black, storyless, safe.
I am soon awoken by
The continued arguement
Of mind and body.
