A strange cruel eidolon often glides thru my silent room, then slinks away dry and smooth as that daystar punches through my window pane -like daggers of wakefulness to pierce my dreams once more; and layers of consciousness likened to pale dead skin,  to lay bare unwanted awareness of a world too embarrassed to open up that stained and hollow door.

Streaming images on my mind's eye are outstretched,  like the gossamer threads of a silver web, woven taut, near a hypnotic light, to draw the uncanny moth, feeding the ravening host tonight.

Nightly visions driven by restless fantasies most phantasmagorical, scream and shout in palm-muted half-tones  fluttering as the matrix of horrors, divined thru an oracle, haunt that same silver death-bed...  one that reaches out and frightens me like   a shape-shifting ghost, (alight and deplorable.)


Though it's all in my head, it's still     all    too     horrible!