You can't move, or speak.
You fight fiercely,
Every cell and sinew,
Struggling to gain control
Of your mind, your body,
Whatever is required,
Just enough, please,
So you can call for help.
At last, a measure of success;
Just enough consciousness,
A whispery, strangulated voice,
But enough to call for help.
Then the isolation of truth sets in.
Overcoming the haze,
Finding your way back to awareness,
Does not diminish the anguish.
The hope you wished for
Does not exist on either side.
Nightmares are just a little more tolerable
When your eyes are open.
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