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Thursday, December 9, 2021

Poem: Nightly Nightmare

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Melanie Gasmen/THE REVIEW

Staff Reporter

Nightly Nightmare

Behind white bifold doors lives a world 
without color. There are solely shades — 
shades of black. 
Blackout curtains shield my window. 
When I push them aside, I see the figure of 
a young girl, thin and innocent. 
The figure breathes and steps into her shadow.
I can see her hands, her long fingers prowling 
scraps of my yellow and pink fabric. 
I back away from the window, but it’s too late.
She’s seen me. 

At the old coffee table, black coffee in a black mug.
I try to join the laughter. My voice is caught, 
coughed up — a hairball of broken notes. 
I see her in the window, smirking. 
Looking down I see my fingers disintegrating,
integrating ashes into my thighs. 
I can’t escape a nightmare when 
she has left craters on my body. 

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