A nightmare is when voices shriek and whisper--
rims of screams and featureless faces stare, fleshless, back at you.
When dried blood stains the walls and cracked glass poke from within you, and your lungs dissolve into air.
It is when your feet bring you nowhere but dead ends, when you bash your head against the wall and beat your hands until they break but the pain never goes away.
When silence is pricking you
and those whimsical little voices lure you
when black nothingness eats at you until you are but a clean white skeleton.
It is when peculiar sounds ring hollow through your bones and make your veins throb and your brain pulse and your heart stop; when disgust and hatred rain down on you like acid.
When your arms are burnt and your back is burnt and your face is burnt with regrets,
and long-in-the-past memories come to hunt you, to seek you,
to ruin you.
When colors are black and white and gray and speckled and fuzzy--like you're dying,
like you're on the edge,
a needlepoint, but lose balance.
When you're falling,
falling,
falling...
and the only sound to be heard is your own
lonely
heart.
