Sleepless

by DarkShanne

Published July 17, 2012

The room, oak planks form walls and the ceiling
Deep violet planks,
the imperfections morph in the most disturbing of ways
into blinking monstrous eyes
Following you every movement
A cold sweat runs down the face
Your face
Your eyes wander down to stare at
ANYTHING but those eyes
Everything blurs and you collapse on the ground
Shadows surround you, coming closer and closer
Making even the bravest soul claustrophobic
Quickly enveloped in the darkness you try and breathe
Just one breath to ground you back to earth
Liquid enters your longs choking, constricting
Painful but not deadly
Dying would ruin the fun
All shadows disperse
Your floating in a glass tank full of water
No exit
No entrance
You see your family watching
Lined up in the front row
Just as escape is impossible
So are answers
The shadows form into a body in front
of the watery cage
Features form in the face first
quickly recognizing it as yourself
But where there should be blue, thoughtful eyes
There are only blood garnet
His grin as menacing as a snake about to strike
He pulls out his knife
Pulls back and stabs
The glass shatters but your still hung
in the air that burns in your lungs
The blade suspending you from your chest
Right in your heart
Through the puncture he enters inside you
An ache rivaling the worst migraine
flows through your head, Front to back
You feel your body stand
Feeling each movement you make as
His puppet
Seeing through His eyes, knowing
that they are your's as well
The knife reappears in what you cannot believe as your hand
Your vision goes blank as you feel Him lunge
for the audience
Waking up startled, still feeling the blood splashed over your face
Never Fall Asleep

Comments & reviews · 1
wordsandwishes wrote a review Review · Jul 20, 2012

I get the impression that this poem was derived from a nightmare. It's certainly dark enough. And kind of creepy, but I guess that's the idea.
Anyway, your imagery was very vivid and well placed in this poem. Your conventions and technical stuff was all flawless. Infact, the poem itself was flawless.
My rating: 9.99999/10
My favorite part: the last line. I liked the way it ended the poem, with a warning.

Keep writing and sharing!!

w&w



As a writer, I'm more interested in what people tell themselves happened rather than what actually happened.
— Kazuo Ishiguro