A room, much like mine
But not. The room is much whiter,
Yet darker. White candle burns brightly beside.
My bed sheets, now white, same as the clothes being worn.
My hands, why won't they
Move? Nor my arms or legs won't
Even flintch a bit. Perhaphs I'm dreaming.
What is that? At the end of the bed? A man?
With a violin in hand
And deformed face. Kneeling
on the bed. He played so beautifully.
As he grew closer, so did the shadows following behind him.
Yet, my fingers and
Toes will hardly move.
The man brought fear and hate
With him, that felt to cause harm. Racing
Heart, trembling fingers. How will I ever wake from this nightmare?
Candle flame, threatening
To whisp away, smoke following.
But then, I would be trapped, the demon
Taunting with it's violin. Naked form and grotesque ears.
"You must wake."
Telling myself, over and
Over. Fingers trying to pry the sheets.
Prying into reality once more. Escaping the thing
In my room. "Focus." Eyes shut. Concentrating. I must wake up.
Wake up. Wake up.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
Wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up
Wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup
My lungs exhale the
Fresh air. Torso jerking to
Sit up. A cold sweat. Beside me,
Only a small lamp. And my clothes? Same
Sweat pants and black shirt. I do not sleep the rest of the night.
YOU ARE READING
Ache & After
PoésieIn this poignant collection, the author navigates the raw, unspoken moments of life-capturing the depths of sadness, the complexity of love, and the painful beauty of heartbreak. Through short stories and heartfelt poetry, the book explores the stru...
