Bad Dreams

I like to be the hero in my dreams, a seafaring captain steering my ship to a new conquest with a beautiful woman in every port. I like my dreams dancing with movement and adventure. I like to be the victor over opposing forces, the savior of the weak, I want to loot the riches of evil. Damn it all, for being unable to control the beast of sleep that pirates my dreams away from its heroic feats and the saving of beautiful women. Why do the demons of dreams devour my flesh? Those monsters gorging themselves on my good dreams, leaving me spent, suffocating in a hot river of sweat, dimming my lucidity and making me see my dreams from a prison of terror, leaving my mind in a smoky glob, thus making me a prisoner of madness. They run me through fields of rotting flesh and gleaming bones, naked corpses with staring eyes, hands that strangle, knives that disembowel and blood that pours out. They humiliate me and beat me! They make me a slave and become my master I end up sucking my thumb before they lead me away and feed me to sharks. why do they plunder my good dreams when I turn out the lights.