Somniphobia

Here the sky is like black velvet;
starless as if the droplets were doused in ebony.
They have been overpowered,
and instead surrendered to sleep.

My mind is enmeshed in a constant war,
in which the body is the target.
The hysteria seeps in as night descends,
rising just the same as the sand in an hourglass.

I don’t fall into a nightmare;
I wake into one, gasping for air.
Fists clenched so tightly
that furious crescents line my palms.
Would you believe me if I say
that I’m dying in reverse?

The darkness presses down on me,
sapping the light from me
as it did the stars.
I fall into a stygian whirlpool,
deeper until I’m submerged.
Deeper still, until I’m drowning.

And I would bet with wild certainty,
if you could cut me open,
the cruor would be ink.