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.