angst in the night

Angst in the night

 

 A nebulous soul was looking for a body to possess,

I was in a cocoon of dread pressed down

could not breaths

The thing, this being was stealing lungful of air.

Terror is a kitchen in a basement, with a floor made

of rough planks from sunken ships, white as the bones

of dead mariners

It has no smell,

Colourless,

And bloodless.

I got up and lit the night- light, the room was ice cold

the dog came with her body gave me warmth.

This misty being had tried to take my body its hunger

for life was endless.

In the morning sunlight warmed my face

my dog had come from the past and saved my life.

 

◄ slow burning

the new middle class ►

Comments

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M.C. Newberry

Thu 12th Mar 2020 16:40

One thing consistent in human existence is the "night terrors" that
seem to survive down the centuries. We seem to remain vulnerable
to the primeval fear that the night hours seem to encourage...as if
we are at our most vulnerable despite centuries removed from the
precarious protection of some primeval cave dwelling, praying that
the dangers that lurk beyond do not reach in for us.

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