Heavy chest. Chained limbs.
Vivid senses, but a blurred vision.
Awake, but hope dims
As the bed becomes a grim prison.
It's from these deceiving dreams, I believe,
And the tempting embrace of slumber
Into which woes I'd sought to relieve.

Alas, here I lay.
Frozen senses, but some - sound, sight, touch -
Remain to parlay
Those who love the shadows o so much.
Is that my mother? No, it can't be.
But who stands there, watching at my side?
Could it be my sister to wake me?

The same vague figure
Always at the ready to deceive
And eager to lure
Me, tried and worn, from the bed to leave.
Possessing my mother's sweet, soft voice,
Imitating my father's presence,
Holding me down, leaving me no choice.

Tied at all my limbs,
At the chest too; there is no escape.
I hear the grim hymns
Of that shadowy figure, whose shape
Embraces my body - I can't breathe!
More than my mind, at times, it will ****.
All I can do is hope to be free.

It all feels so real.
To the bed I'm pinned as these horrors
Make way with such zeal.
I can't even scream, despite the tortures.
Breathing heavily, I try to move,
Watching what else the figure conjures.
It's for these nightmares, to sleep, I rue.