Sunday, 4 June 2017

s(l)eep, 4/June/17

skimming the surface of sleep our hero barely keeps his head above water hesitantly paddling motionless for dear life
haunted and held by the ankles
pulling
pulling
dragging down
downwards with nails dragging across the skin with fingers firm as rigor-grip
a ghost upon the landing talks to no one (?) facing away but glancing nonchalant over one shoulder every now and
then
no sound from his lips and all is calm yet sheets are being pulled
pulling
pulling
our heroes mind if clammy, weak
underneath
underneath
a reticence a fear to wake, from what? from sleep? from a sleep that isn't sleep but waits in wait behind the door, the curtain, down the stairs into the cellar
walk away
move away
panic tastes like salt, a sour grit of sand our hero's being pulled
pulling
pulling
this house is held together by nothing more than sticks and stones and brittle bones and trace of the shadows left behind forever inked into the plaster, flaking paint, a carpet pattern worn and frayed to floorboards
he hears a noise and inside out his skin crawls seeping out of every pore he slowly disappears to find he hadn't moved an inch he skims the surface of a sleep that never was......

 
       © robert greig 2017

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