Screaming Nights

Bolt upright in bed
I am drenched
by crawling shadows
accompanying the sweat
running down me in tiny rivulets
which fall into every crevasse
until finally, both disappear.
I lay back down in the dark
and to the coldness
I fall prey too, once I am
removed from unkempt sleep,
but like an unwelcome cover
on a sweltered night
they both wrap themselves about me
as I toss and turn.
Held firm in their grip,
I breathe like the wretch
they will devour – the hollow
echo of sweeter dreams on
these scathing,
shallow nights don’t tame
their lust or cravings – instead
they mock my own,
poking fun at the emptiness
they clamour to reside
in until I am consumed and there
is no more of me.
I am  convinced they will leave nothing
in their wake,
nothing to greet life’s reawakening
each morning,
once the monster has had its way.
I lie here and try to breathe deeply,
until short, sharp, shallow
breaths take over, pushing me out of the way –
anxiety taking me over.
But still, I think to myself,
as its arms envelop
all of my hopes and dreams
and hopelessness takes over
making me cold from the tip of my toes
to the outermost reaches
of my nightmare,
things could be worse –
couldn’t they?
I turn over tentatively
reaching through the darkness –
a darkness which has a viscosity equal
to that of molasses, trapping
gossamer webs that hold
a thousand
deadly spiders – I
seek out the arm I can feel
in the shadows and say,
‘Warm me…’

Screaming Nights