The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters - Etching by Francisco Goya

we are scratches on the surface somehow imprinting page to page degrading as we move frame by frame until we slump with the inky weight of filling in the detail of ourselves we obscure into blackness just outline and shading hinting at yesterday wholly aware of our emptiness beneath the grey evidence of our existence as reality snaps to something more real the rest of the room has claws we hide our eyes try to think it through beset by waking dream as we etch our nightmares surrounding ourselves with inner torment for more of it to fly in on its own given life by our hand what if I sat up waved my arms didn't turn my back or imagine the worst I may sit as the only soul in this room perfectly safe waiting for blinding daylight to stop me casting shadows