And then there are the dreams when I become him.
The cold creeping sludge seeping up through my soles
Filling my legs and I rise flimsy high and hateful
Treading unearthly imprints into the faded mossy carpet
Up the curved stairs, one, two, three then creak
Watching hushed through the rails as the landing clock ticks
Earthy fingers on the shimmery wallpaper leave a stain
Grounding the oriental birds from their colourful flight
The crystals sparkle casting spidery lashes in the moonlight
And I turn the handle, step inside her familiar sleeping scent
The stuffed bears and rabbits, her protectors, her friends
Soft as feathers her breath tickles my face and I am the hunter
Wake me if you dare.