You breathe deep, you're about to fall asleep. And that's when I get close.
You don't feel my weight on the mattress, but the pressure in your chest is increasing.
You don't see my form, made of pure nightmare and the unfulfilled promise of light, but your eyebrows are shaken, trapped in a terror they can't identify.
I'm the chill that invades you, a chill that is deeply rooted in your spleen, like the fog of the deepest voids leaking into your bloodstream.