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by CL Huth about a year ago in surreal poetry · updated about a year ago
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...a recurring dream...

Darkness fills my senses

Pulling against my weary body

With false promises of sleep,

But I know better and resist.

I cannot seek repose tonight;

The nightmare keeps returning,

Never granting a reprieve

From my paranoid insomnia.

Fighting the overwhelming need

To rest my head against a pillow,

I bide my time writing in distraction,

As I await that first sliver of dawn.

Yet as I look at my bare feet,

I see glistening, vermilion pools,

Warm between my toes.

Oh, no, not again!

High-pitched cries of children

Shatter my desperation,

Forcing my hands up to my ears,

Painting crimson across my skin.

Why, when I look at them,

Are my hands dripping red,

Each fingertip a slow eddy

Of someone else's blood?

A train roars beside me

Diverting my open eyes

To the trio of children

safe beneath the tracks.

I walk toward them 

I know they will only scream

As if to reassure myself

That they are alive, whole.

But as I get closer

Oh, no, please, no!

I can see only more blood

Splashed bright across the ties.

A doll-like hand grips

The far side of the tracks,

Just five small digits pale

Against the encroaching dark.

There is no body attached,

Though I know if I just turn--

The children wail at my approach,

Forcing the nightmare onward.

What monster have I become

That these children I wish to save

Press their backs against the walls

Of their makeshift shelter?

I reach out with both hands

Through the space between ties

Whispering words of comfort,

Met with hysterical despair.

Fingers curl around a thin neck

Someone stop me, please!

breaking skin with inhuman ease

and his life spills wet on my hands.

With strength I cannot understand,

No, no, no! I rip the body through

The minor blockade of the railway,

My mouth moving towards the--

"No!" I scream, forcing myself awake,

Papers scattering in my distress.

My hands feel warm, my lips wet;

My tongue tastes teeth tainted metallic.

I cannot look, trembling as I sit,

Afraid of what might await my sight

But I know I must, for sanity's sake,

Lest the nightmare hold me forever.

At long last, I open my tired eyes

And pull my hands away from the table,

Oh, no...No! Not again!

Only to see brown lines across my palms.

I know what it is, but not why I see it,

My brain rejecting the proof I cannot deny,

A haunting reminder of my true nature,

My nightmare will never end.

surreal poetry

About the author

CL Huth

Author of the award-winning "Zoe Delante Thriller Series", a three-book set available on all your favorite online booksellers. If you like dark paranormal stories, I'm your writer.

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