Dreams Are For Suckers

Mon, 02/12/2018 - 12:13 -- watts

 

Dreams are what suckers are made of

Nightmares are what I am made of

I lay in my bed with my eyes open

Mentally picturing what my ceiling fan would look like if the lights were on

I see the outline of the wooden door disappear as my father turns out the light on the other side of the wall

It’s quiet for a while

Then I hear my dog start to snore at the foot of my bed

I hear my clock ticking

It drives me insane

It’s like a faucet that won’t stop

My heart races

I hear it in my ears as I listen for the monster

Then it stops

Everything is silent

My door creaks open

It sounds like giant stepping on the rotting wood of a four hundred year old house

I stare blankly at my ceiling

From the outside I am sleeping, all is calm around me

But in reality, I am shaking

Yelling in my mind

“It burns” I scream

As the monster digs its claws into my stomach

But this time it was real

It smelled of searing flesh from the burning hands of the monster

This time it wasn’t a monster

This time it was me

I hear my mother scream

And my father call the police

For I realize

I have done this myself

I am my monster

But I took it to far

 

No more nightmares

And no more dreams

Dreams are for suckers

And suckers are for me

-Makenna Watts

This poem is about: 
Our world

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741