Night Terror

My shadow is not my own.
It belongs unto itself,
Exercising its own will.
On sleepless nights

I pace the floor,
As it lurks,
Watching from the corner,
And when I seldom do slumber,
It lingers o’erhead,
Provoking me
With horrific faces and expressions,
The likes of which I have n’er seen.

Paralyzed,
Yet tossing and turning violently inside,
I wish I had left the lights on
To thwart my nightly foe —
A hollow man,
A reckless soul with a penchant for mischief,
A bodiless form —
It haunts me,
And I lie awake in the darkness

Awaiting its next visit,
Staring upwards at the ceiling
With bloodshot eyes unseen.
Tired am I,
He who craves peaceful sleep alone,
But frightened —
Oh, so frightened! —
And still I wait each night
With heavy head
On unyielding pillow,
Waiting for my nameless hunter
‘Neath rough, embalming sheets

Which seal my fate.

The moon is suffocated by menacing clouds.
It is happening again.
I grit my teeth in anticipation of the worst.