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Description
VI.

Sleep embraces me in its comfortable grasp that is too comfortable, far too comfortable, and I am taken by the welcomed but reproachful slip into my subconscious. . . .

Trepidation. Malice. Forbidden.
An otherworldly, dreamlike haze leaves my vision obscured. . . .
Anxiety. Fear. Apprehension.
A wave of dread passes over me,
drowning every logical question,
diluting every possible answer,
submerging every thought of serenity;
any source of hope going under. . . .
Save. Me from. My senses.
The touch of fear,
the smell of death,
the taste of lead is on my breath.
The sounds of trumpets that signal nigh
the sight of darkness in my eye.