I thought,
I was impervious, armor
in place, attached to detachment
my pesky synapses
melted away in
a gray soup
protected,
pain exempt...
but ****, you
come to me
in dreams
in Morpheus grip
you slip in, those menacing faces
I managed to block, return
to mock me
the jeers to which
I made myself deaf, are now soprano, alto, bass
in my nocturnal symphony
those who malign me
are free to walk on my grave:
to them and all others I am
but slumbering slave
I can not choose
when to wake, to end your reign
but if I could, you would then skulk
a bit in my skull's dark den
waiting for my weary eyes
to close again