Poem 20151025

the sheet may as well
be made of lead
heavy and hot
and my limbs won’t move
in the dark
only my eyes travel
tracing a flicker
of lights cast by the clock
against the ceiling
but with lights
come the shadows
here a hand
there a sharp profile
almost human
and always the sound
of heavy breathing
and the weight of the sheet
sweat slicks my forehead
my head refuses to turn
from side to side
only my eyes obey
and at the side of the bed
in the shadows
something darker
something breathing
that doesn’t have lungs

Check out Monster Masquerade from Poet Rummager. Hat tip to Elusive Trope for bringing it to my attention.