I’m not usually a dreamer
I wake, and think acutely, over tea leaves in the morning
And have nothing to say of my sleep imaging
But lately, I find myself
At the same back door
Foot upon the same step
Walking into a room I don’t know
You can’t see me
There’s a woman upstairs,
You’re thinking of putting your hands around her neck
I’m so suddenly scared, I turn to leave.
You say;
You’re whining, why are you whining?
What is it you want me to do?
I stand there, frozen, staring at a faceless figment of you
You get on all fours and turn into a beast, a ring through your snout
I hold the door open, you run out.
Writing this scene dilutes its power, makes it sound so tame;
I don’t know why it makes me wake with a start, so scared
Honestly, it’s a nightmare.
