At times, unwanted dreams return like stubborn tides, night after night, some whispering from the far edges of childhood. They are echoes of a past that never truly slept, commanding the stage of the subconscious with the precision of an invisible maestro. In them, the contours of reality and illusion blur, as if the mind were sailing through a dense fog where everything is and is not.
They are faceless nightmares, abstract like the paintings of a mad artist, saturated with sensations that chill the soul: a cold that snakes down the spine, insecurity that clings like ivy, indecision that paralyzes, and above all, fear — that silent tyrant who rules without mercy.
I always find myself entering an attic drowned in darkness, where the only exit is a rope bridge with rotting planks, suspended over the abyss of the unknown. Every step is a challenge to gravity and courage; the wood groans beneath my feet and my heart shatters into a thousand pieces. Blood rushes like a furious river, and the air slips away from me like sand through fingers.
Is it the fear of crossing, or the terror of what hides on the other side? Indecipherable. A curse that haunts me like a loyal shadow. The darkness is absolute, shadows dance around me like spectres in a macabre celebration. A glacial cold wraps itself around me, and there I remain, halfway, prisoner of doubt. Fear rises like a monster without a face, without a soul, without mercy. I shrink back, and the bridge comes to life — swaying, trembling, roaring — and terror sets me ablaze inside like fire on dry straw.
I wake. A brief, fleeting relief. The emotions still vibrate in my body like the strings of an out‑of‑tune violin. I fall asleep… and it all begins again, like a cursed déjà vu.
I cannot break free. It lives within me like thick vines burrowing into the flesh of my unconscious. Unnameable. Inexplicable. Unexpected. A nightmare that refuses to die, even as the years pass. A riddle time cannot decipher. I feel chained to something without a name, and only dawn grants me truce. But when night falls, I always fear the return of the black angel hovering over my soul, bringing with it the same curse.
It is a dissonant nocturnal melody, where I rarely have the delight of dreaming of other landscapes. Even the nightmares of others seem gentler. Panic is my prison, and the shackles that bind me drag me into a deep ocean where light is only a distant mirage.
Oh cursed curse, when will you release me? When will you allow me to dance across green fields, to the sound of sweet melodies, free from this fear that consumes me?
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