Nightmares Are Waiting
Writing metaphors
with psychedelic ink,
but they are living things;
taking me to hell in a basket
of my own creation.
I open my mouth to scream,
and out come flying wings
like seraphim fleeing flames
from my unkempt mind;
a portal of delusion.
Psychedelic ink in lines
of script like code,
entangling my brain,
invading the hidden place
where nightmares are waiting.
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