Misted windows of the dream world

 

I wake up in a cold sweat.

Knees held, strapped to my chest.

Hugged as tightly as a lover,

but I must confess

my body doesn't bend like this.

I'm panting for breath.

What had scared me so?

I gaze into the misted windows

of the dream world, still visible

but fading quickly.

I peered within,

only seeing a fleeting shadow

bleed into the darkness slickly.

 

Terrified, I try to prise my fingers apart,

set tight like a vice or clamp,

to free my legs from my grip.

If I stay in this position much longer

I'll end up bent double with ice in my veins

and a terrible bout of cramp,

but those fingers are locked,

like if I were to let my body spread,

then the only outcome will be

to wind up dead.

 

I sense I'm not alone.

When loneliness

is your closest companion 

you can feel when someone

else is in the room.

It's like the air is charged.

Any movement will send

a spark to your heart,

stopping you dead.

Leaving you staring

at the deadlights ahead.

 

I glance at the clock.

Expecting hours to have circled past,

but it was less than five minutes

since I'd opened my eyes last.

"This is going to be a bloody long night."

I say to nobody,

"Yes, it is" 

they reply.

 

 

Thanks for reading

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Peace, Love & Poetry 

 

Kyle