(So in a poetry club and they wanted to do a prompt of “Nightmare Fuel”. It was supposed to be like Halloween themey, I think, but I’m very bad at that. Nightmares are about fear and anxiety and — well, here’s the poem. It’s very rough and not very polished, but it’s there.)
The night is already deep,
But I know I will not sleep.
There are monsters in my head,
Sometimes, I’d rather be dead.
No, never the deadness of flesh,
But of the soul where all the memories mesh.
My nightmares are not vampires or witches,
They are men with easy switches.
My nightmares are the screams,
My world coming apart at the seams.
My nightmares are the bruises on my mother.
My nightmares are- Why won’t she leave?!
My nightmares are the hands that didn’t ask.
My nightmares are the gun and the axe.
My nightmares- There is no help, and there is no hope.
My nightmares are hanging without the rope.