On the night
At the very early morn
The moon had already risen
Just as a broken gaseous no more sleeps
Somehow, somewhere, a beast trapped, released
No longer is it trapped to the confines of its prison
Eyes that survey
Salivating, wanting,
A prompt to its hunger
Its nostril’s pleasure: my scents
Under a crack of dim, creaming crescent
The uncensored scene of my slumber
The conditions, possibilities, a setting made right for the empty
A glimmer of hope or just the fangs bared for the bark or biting
Once started, the urge, its selfishness to one else, it’ll never lend
The craving has begun; the questionable realism of this game of pretend
A shadowy figure, upon a pair of feet; yours, no, mine, it lurks in the dark
Countless moments to lose the count of, time is held still
Longer and longer, in continuous moments that shows no signs of breaking
Once I had the warming presence of the body of mine besides me, only to be replaced
“A story’s not to be finished without the satisfaction it gives,” is all I find
All we have seen, the sweet smell of lovely dreams still dancing feverously like visions of my mind
Darkness lies beside me, wanting you, cannot be unseen: the ****** features being without a face
What’s gotten is what’s to be deserved: deliberations of the disease that festers the fabric of my thoughts, I pay no mind
At this point, my reality sinks in, run-on sentences roles across the virtual plane called your screen.
Unable to break away from the unrecognizable creature that lies before me, I lose contact with the senses, my nerves have no feeling
The beauty of it all is the art, the science, I love the way how it consumes me, growing over me, light glinting off its fangs still bared
I remember now, I know it, we’ve talked about it before, it calls itself Sherman, our sleep paralysis demon, still I feel the need to be scared
My lovely dreams, he feeds off of, the hunger within, in him, is never satisfied, no matter how many times he tried, he didn’t stop, just enough to make me void, light blinds me, my soul is fleeing.
On the morn,
At the surpassed night
My heartbeat pends
Eternally I sleep, at peace
Those who know me weep
For my plotless reality never ends
Feb 11, 2020
Feb 11, 2020 at 6:57 AM UTC
On the night
At the very early morn
The moon had already risen
Just as a broken gaseous no more sleeps
Somehow, somewhere, a beast trapped, released
No longer is it trapped to the confines of its prison
Eyes that survey
Salivating, wanting,
A prompt to its hunger
Its nostril’s pleasure: my scents
Under a crack of dim, creaming crescent
The uncensored scene of my slumber
The conditions, possibilities, a setting made right for the empty
A glimmer of hope or just the fangs bared for the bark or biting
Once started, the urge, its selfishness to one else, it’ll never lend
The craving has begun; the questionable realism of this game of pretend
A shadowy figure, upon a pair of feet; yours, no, mine, it lurks in the dark
Countless moments to lose the count of, time is held still
Longer and longer, in continuous moments that shows no signs of breaking
Once I had the warming presence of the body of mine besides me, only to be replaced
“A story’s not to be finished without the satisfaction it gives,” is all I find
All we have seen, the sweet smell of lovely dreams still dancing feverously like visions of my mind
Darkness lies beside me, wanting you, cannot be unseen: the ****** features being without a face
What’s gotten is what’s to be deserved: deliberations of the disease that festers the fabric of my thoughts, I pay no mind
At this point, my reality sinks in, run-on sentences roles across the virtual plane called your screen.
Unable to break away from the unrecognizable creature that lies before me, I lose contact with the senses, my nerves have no feeling
The beauty of it all is the art, the science, I love the way how it consumes me, growing over me, light glinting off its fangs still bared
I remember now, I know it, we’ve talked about it before, it calls itself Sherman, our sleep paralysis demon, still I feel the need to be scared
My lovely dreams, he feeds off of, the hunger within, in him, is never satisfied, no matter how many times he tried, he didn’t stop, just enough to make me void, light blinds me, my soul is fleeing.
On the morn,
At the surpassed night
My heartbeat pends
Eternally I sleep, at peace
Those who know me weep
For my plotless reality never ends
Was for Halloween, but better late than never?
Request permission to use this poem