These halls, they seem longer, darker, alien, 
That’s how I know the difference; too many doors.

Voices sprung from invisible mouths, like the vipers they are, yet another attempt to restrain a free thinker, yet again they fail.

A slumber punctuated with horror and sweat of the brow, do we still call it a rest?

Too many doors, too many possibilities?

Too many doors, just a lack a direction?

Too many doors, a dirty game of a virulent spirit?

Too many questions, too many horrors, too many answers and no certainty; A daily concoction,

A daily dose,

‘Day’, ‘night’, terms which carry no meaning where I awaken,

When the portal to this otherworld is ajar,

When the doors start to creak,

Where Dread is granted the freedom to speak,

I’ll meet you there.