Poets logo

Spiraling

The Moment Between Consciousness and Sleeping

By R. J. ChavezPublished 6 years ago 1 min read
Like

Spiraling

Startled, awoken by thunderous roaring.

My eyes are either closed or wide as the sensation’s deceiving.

Just the void of darkness that consumes everything.

Unable to move my hands but feel no binding.

Fear be stills me as I begin spiraling.

Trying desperately to break my body’s state of being.

To know the difference of consciousness and sleeping.

Cannot move having lost all feeling.

Unable to focus, for the bells keep ringing.

Profusely drilling into my ears to the point of bleeding.

The heavy musk of incense lingering.

Suffocating as I have trouble breathing.

A moment of silence becomes deafening.

Shattered by music depressingly-orchestrating.

Unnerved by the sounds of footsteps creeping.

Drawing closer towards me all while weeping.

Overwhelmed in fear to the unknown hovering.

Looking down upon me in my suffering.

Subtle droplets upon my cheek begin streaming.

The tender touch upon my chest is misleading.

Feeling their warmth but not my heart beating.

Please shake me, awake me, from this unpleasant dreaming.

Leaving me gentle kisses before fleeing.

Left alone to the sound of mass grieving.

Overthrown by a masculine voice preaching.

Revealing a horrid truth that leaves my heart searing.

As he insures the crowd that it is death that gives life meaning.

No it cannot be true, cannot help with disbelieving.

My God, please tell me it’s deceiving.

The idea of being dead leaves me reeling.

I am deceased, but not at peace, this must be misconceiving.

All around me shakes from heavy heaving.

Carrying me off to my final place of resting.

Cannot cry out to show that I am still existing.

No prevail as I feel my body descending.

The chilling sound of the dead cry out welcoming.

The periodic thuds of dirt comes hurdling.

Upon my casket along with heavens sudden tearing.

The sensation of water comes seeping.

Caressing my cheek to awake in my bed shaking.

From water falling from a withered roof ceiling.

Trying desperately to gather my moments thinking.

The idea that I was I alive was far from relieving.

As alone I am with no wife, child, friend, parent, nor sibling.

Age is what stares back at me mirroring.

A good dream for me as it had so many people caring.

Alone in this empty room contemplating.

There are worst fates than death when no-one knows your living.

sad poetry
Like

About the Creator

R. J. Chavez

Horrortry (poetry and horror)

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.