Poets logo

Nightmare

by CL Huth about a year ago in surreal poetry · updated about a year ago
Report Story

...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.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2022 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.