buried inside the sheets.
sinking in, drowning in.

the clock that haunts, often delusive.
lingers the shivering winds
of the phantom hours.
shadows plunging through the ink,
gibberish whispers cackling in a blink.

beads of sweat,
no movements,
just goosebumps still.
flickering eyes wide and ill,
fear of the hidden crawling in.
words? none. a burning throat.
heart beating a beastly rate.
chapped lips, bleeding eyes.
not with tears, but fears.
that keep coming back.

the terror of being caged,
in one's realism.
— luce.

y'all, guess what this poem is about.
type what you think in the comments~