NIGHTMARE

I Am My Own Nightmare

A poem

Sketch by author — colorized with Petalica Paint

I am my own nightmare,
strapped to an iron bed
I see myself dangling, a shadow,
from the ceiling
 — slip out of door cracks and keyholes,
wrap myself around my throat,
suffocate.

My mouth fills with failures,
throat with a bully’s laughter,
stomach with regrets,
I retch my unconscious
drip by drip.

There is a prickle in my temple,
the creature in my forehead
rouses, begs for release
They call it the third eye,
I call it Judgement Day.

Robed in nightmares,
my one-eyed anamnesis,
on her haunches, sits
on my chest, unrolls
yellow parchment, death-rolls
the names of insecurities,
masked fears and lost opportunities.

I writhe in pain, cry out my own name
The unblinking eye of judgment
softens, lowers a curtain,
slumbers
Awake, I meet myself, not a murky shadow —
a murmuration
of a golden self.

Many thanks to Chrysa Stergiou and the Catharsis Chronicles for the November Nightmare Competition, which brought this poem from the shadows.

Thank you for reading.
💙