The Nightmare

The air is thick, haunting, alive
A pitch black cave where demons thrive

These phantom figures swirl and shift
A threatening, incessant hiss

And in your frightened, panicked state
Their force of fear accumulates

Engulfing you, their glares surround
Scared half to death, you tear the ground

Until you think you’ve met defeat
Then, you wake up. You’ve wet the sheet!

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