It is the secret fear of being unlovable that isolates me
Of not finding it
Of not recognizing it
Of not being deserving of it
Of not being capable of it

It paralyzes me at that precise point between sleep and wakefulness
Digging its talons into me
Keeping me captive at that area where dreams dissolve into nightmares
Whispering its rabid venom
Consuming me, driving me to near madness

I cannot recall at what point I actually awaken
It's realism disorients me
The fear stays with me, just beneath my skin
Wanting, waiting...always just waiting
My lover... My monster