A Fleeting Thought While Dabbling With Sleep

It is in the sixth sense,
or maybe the seventh,
that I know you are there.

You, who comes walking in my nightmares,
stepping beyond my imagination.

You are as—
A drop of water falling from an icicle
landing on the nape of my neck;
tracing a frigid serpentine
route on my skin—

This is the sixth sense,
or perhaps the seventh,
that lets me know you are present;
standing behind the shadow of a
storm-cloud at midnight,

and giving me a realisation
that my imagination can't comprehend.

You, who causes imps to dance,
and saints to falter.
You, who makes nightmares reality,
and reality unhealthy, perverted,
twisted, please walk in someone else's mind.

Walk on someone else's world.

It is in the sixth sense or maybe the seventh
that I know you are there.
Dancing on my fear
and it is well past midnight.
You continue pulling me around corners
that I dare not turn.
Please,
Please leave before I awake.