I wake from the nausea of sleep to
some foreign breathing,
heavy and irregular, cold and awful.
Terror saturates my guts.
There is no monstrosity,
no groaning creature clothed in shadow.
I am alone as always,
with the suggestion of menace.
I dreamt of a terrible architecture,
an unknowable edifice
unbound by earthly geometry.
It rises from the bottom of a pale sea as if to
scratch the heavens,
indescribable in size.
The structure lacks markings, window or door,
but is somehow possessed of a frightening, supernatural intelligence.
Inside must be
some cosmic horror.
Maybe a sleeping god
awaits the apocalypse?
Maybe this is Hell,
housed here in an ethereal world?
The spire haunts me.
Every night I dream of that alien ocean and the
strange monolith towering savagely from its depths
Every morning I wake with panic,
convinced some monster waits nearby.
Its breath is cold on my skin.
Vomit wells in my throat
from the ugly smell that permeates the room.
My teeth loosen in their sockets and are torn out by an imaginary hand.
My testicles retract into a revolting body.
Blood seeps from every orifice…
But the sensation stops suddenly,
apparently imaginary,
and all that remains is wonder.
It is this not-knowing of the indefinable which
horrifies me.
The creature won't reveal itself and
Virgil will not explain the mysteries to me,
an unworthy slob adrift between two dimensions of indifference.
I will never know the secrets of this world or that world
and it is truly unfair.
http://stickylung.blogspot.com
