She visited my slumber and caused confusion.

I turned and whispered: This must be an illusion.

Thoughts abstracted and words turned to mush.

She sat there in silence, consumed by a hush.

This house unaccustomed felt so abstruse.

A sense of anxiety. The fear of abuse.

Their faces I knew, but their heartbeats were off.

What reality calls love, this dream called a scoff.

Her aura lorded over like stress to a soul.

The wall that obstructed might as well be a hole.

The wolf so robotic with expressionless face.

While she lie there motionless with a veil of disgrace.

I scurried to finish the art I was building.

But the problem endured. It felt so unyielding.

The pressure received from this groundless regime.

My mind hurt so bad as it ripped at the seams.

My bride pulled intently, as she’d had enough.

We’re blowing this joint. Start packing it up.

Time-thickened pain from a baffling theme.

A nightmarish feast on this subconscious dream.