Categories > Original > Poetry

Faith in fiction

by ImJustFine 2 reviews

I think I'd rather, yes.

Category: Poetry - Rating: G - Genres: Angst,Horror - Published: 2012-09-15 - Updated: 2012-09-15 - 475 words - Complete

There are things
that people just shouldn't have
to think about
how having more than one escape-route
also means you're stuck
with more than one possible point of intrusion
is just one of them
considering wether
you'd rather stay sleepless
through the night
listening for noises
or just accept that if something gets in
you're fucked
and sleep
just because there's nothing else to do

That's a dilemma for an insomniac

Would you just not care
about your own blood on the carpet
if you'd just sleep
for one night?

Of course I am aware
that there is no such thing
as monsters under my bed
rotting corpses tugging on the blankets
it's all just echoing
down into the well
where the rationality lies and squirms all night
and in the dark it looks so vile
when it comes crawling back up
sometime during the small hours
it reeks of panicked, paranoid desolation
all the vermin saunters coyly
the quiet boy with the ghosts at his head
bares his long, browning teeth
as the lady of sorrows sings about her vices
like they are cancer
in the woods

And maybe you think about the reason
maybe you try all the tricks
counting sheep
and meditating
and watching re-run marathons
turning your clock to the wall
to escape the haunting march of
time, time
and even more wasted time
only to discover that
behind the veils of your eyelids
the nightmare
is only beginning

But maybe you already knew that
maybe your mind
is ahead of you
it's just your instincts telling you
that tonight
the bad things all happen in here
in your head
the reluctance to fall asleep
is just that cowardly piece of you
that keens at the thought of adrenaline
whines like a dog.

Or maybe it's all just practice
a glimpse of your behavior
when the world tips you off the edge
and everything that was once floor
is now walls
and you're tumbling sideways
holy fuck

Maybe you're a runner
a hider
or a fighter
or maybe you're like me
splaying out
in front of the growling beast
in uncaring surrender

Bless your soul,
then you're the worst kind of dreamer
the kind
that dies in their dreams
in the most disgusting way
and still finds it
mind you
disturbingly relieving
feeling your heart
pound wildly
below your left clavicle
thinking that
you're glad you died

at least you can be sure
that it was
only a dream

You prefer the nights
find the privacy of a quiet house
strangely soothing
when you think about it
the dreams are actually pretty nice
morbidly beautiful
in a way that suits the bookshelf
hugging the Poe
and Shelley

And the bold truth is
that the morning scares you
in a way
that the monsters never did
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