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Somniphobia
I'm Beatrix Kiddo coffined, alive, night's blackness dead.
"Lights out," sings my problematic dream demon...
"You'll enjoy your nap after I steal your last breath," he said,
Exhaling deeply, "Your psyche belongs to me this night I reckon."
Interurban Boulevard, down my own street he leads me,
All the while he's flipping my coin, glimmering
"Things are about to get very bloody, stickier than honey."
His words dripping smoother than bee spit, my veins pulsing...
Past midnight, Cinderella's clock chimes, cheating staying alive.
He grips my throat, chocking like it depends on his life,
There's nothing I can do now but struggle, how can I survive?
Who is this reoccurring, offending, dream demon lowlife?
I amp my lungs for my final gut-wrenching scream,
Forcing my eyes wide open, how could that have been a dream?
