They flicker

in your periphery,

touch you with inquisitive,

ephemeral fingers,

caressing your face

as you sleep.

Their fangs gleam

in the glow

of  your night light.

Their blades flash

in the light of your

scented candles.

Their laughter echoes in your dreams

and renders it a landscape of nightmares.

Your senses are shuffled

like cards.

Your reality turns to sand,

infirm, unstable, and capable of killing.

It is here they caper in the wind,

howling at the silent stars.

And when you are finally asleep,

they will tickle you

with the

points of their scythes

before they cull you

into the darkness,

making sport of your damnation


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