In the night’s hollow, it comes

seeping through the crack between sleep and dream.

Dark builds, echoes become memories,

all things are shattered, it is empty,

shadows shine black.

The realization, the hag upon my chest,

the horror that I am not immortal

descends upon me like a reaper from beyond

and strangles me in my bed

until I am awake.

There are no colors except….

There are no sounds except….

There are no sounds,

nothing felt or smelled or tasted except

dread.

No man’s anonymous god

can penetrate the reality of this place,

and impart that thing

we gave no thought to

until now.