All it took was one step towards the door, and the blood dripped–

Wet.

The second step creaked the floor boards, raised the dead–

Skin.

Closer and closer, the tiny, murky hands splintered the wood,

The cries, the snaps, the burning.

Each son and daughter taken by the dark–

Black.

The third step was the slowest, the most agonizing,

Because the ground turned ashen, the walls white, the blood–

Sludge.

The fourth step passed quickly–

The fifth step birthed more hands clawing at my laces–

Clicking, moaning, fire on fire–

The knob turned.

I jolted awake. Sat up quickly, tugged by the restraints around my wrists and ankles.

The same white room breathed.

It contracted, expanded, pooled and flexed,

My shackles the same.

Once in a while, I would trace the beige tiles. The ones near my bed with my nose, the rest with what little of my mind remained, shadowed and painted with the dead. Their voices drilling into my head like electricity–

My head hit the pillow.

I dreamed about the door again.

And all it took was one step before the waves of crimson decayed my everything.

Bones broke, skin slopped, brains separated–

Gone.

Many times I wasn’t sure if I was in the room or near that door.

One was torture. The other was–

Torture.

The room lights went out. The door melted to mud. I tried to empty the poison–

of the Mind.

Wake from my life of fantasy.

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(Felt like posting outside my usual schedule for fun. Also wanted to try something a little different. Kind of a hodgepodge of ideas to keep the creative juices flowing.)