Every night I lie down pretending
the dark is harmless,
that the pillow won’t tilt me into that ruined corridor again,
the one smeared with echoes that refuse to die.
I close my eyes.
The floor gives way—
that same sickening drop through a hatch I never see,
my body yanked downward
like some marionette jerked by a bitter puppeteer.
I hit the ground running.
Shadows cling to my back
like jealous lovers,
their breath cold against my neck,
fingers grazing my spine
with the intimacy of a threat.
Hallways bend wrong.
Angles snap. Ceilings squeeze low.
Each corner reveals another version
of the terror I forgot to outgrow.
Sometimes it’s footsteps behind me—
too steady, too deliberate.
Sometimes it’s a shape ahead,
blocking the exit I swear was there a second earlier,
its grin stitched from whatever fear I tried to bury that day.
The worst part:
how familiar the chase feels,
like I’ve lived it for decades,
as if sleep is just a punch-clock
for another shift in hell.
Then—the sudden jolt.
My body jerks awake.
Lungs dragging air like it’s broken glass.
The room perfectly still
except for my pulse punching at my ribs.
I wipe sweat from my mouth,
swallow the last threads of dread,
tell myself it’s done—just a dream, nothing more—
but the night smirks in the corner
as if to say: you’ll be back.
And I always am.
Morning never cleans it out.
Daylight just paints the memory a softer color,
disguising the panic as something manageable
until dusk strips away the lie.
By noon I forget the faces,
but not the sensation—
the endless falling,
the grinding pursuit,
the sense that even in rest
I’m not allowed a place without teeth.
When I finally crawl into bed again,
exhausted beyond reason,
the mattress shifts like it remembers the script
better than I do.
I feel the drop forming beneath me,
the invisible hinge loosening,
the familiar betrayal of gravity turning conspirator.
I brace for it—
hands curling,
jaw tightening,
breath slowing
as if preparing for combat I’ll never win—
because part of me knows
the trapdoor is patient
and has perfect attendance.
Still, I fall.
Every night,
into that same unending chase.
No finish line. No mercy. No clean break.
Just the loop tightening around my sleep
like a noose that refuses to snap.