lumpy bumpy not billowy and pillowy
Good pillows are made for sweet dreams.
You have gotten a bad pillow, it seems.
I waken, as you sit bolt-strait, upright.
It's 2 a.m., you stare into the dark night.
I reach to touch your trembling back.
You sweat and shiver, an anxiety attack.
Slowly the words and fears tumble from you,
the same daemon chasing, cloak's red hue,
gnashing teeth, bloodthirsty in your mind's eye,
and you always wake up right before you die.
In the light, dreams and fears don't go away.
Dear God, what if he catches me some day?