The Nightmare

I’ve always felt half strangled. There’s smoke creeping under the door when I sleep and there are flames licking their way up every exit so the smoke can slither around my throat, a vice for my screams. Even when I wake up, my cries dam in my throat, blocked by the residual wisps of terror. I’ve always felt haunted. The monsters under my bed don’t live there, they live in my head. They stalk my consciousness in the day and show themselves in the dark. They wait for me. They are always waiting for me. In the shadowy corners of a room, a flicker in the street in the corner of my vision. Waiting for me to see them. Waiting for me to fear them. I am so scared every time I close my eyes. Every new dream is a new horror. Smoke and mirrors and monsters. I am choking on my fear, haunted by my dreams.