You sit silently, painfully pondering, torn.
Wondering if your nightmares will stop.
You shake as you start awake,
Twisting beneath the covers, eyes flickering.
Panic seizes your heart, bile rising.
You hold it back, barely; panting.
You watch quietly as shadows dance.
Glad for your freedom from dreams.
You turn on your side, sighing,
Believing that your torment is over...
But that is when you realize,
As the ceiling sprouts blooded eyes
And as the walls crumble. That
Your terror has only just begun...
So run little rabbit, run away.
Or it won't be fun, this game we play...
-Siddhartha Chen, 29th May 2014