R.E.M.
Under a slab
Of cement I sleep,
Wilderness heavy,
Sorrow deep;
Sorrow deep,
Archaeology old,
Running through
Corridors untold—
Racing the hallways
Of my dreams,
Ankles shackled,
With muffled screams;
With throttled throat,
I strive to wake,
Covered in cobwebs
I cannot shake;
Cobweb-bound,
Imprisoned in doom,
Under concrete,
In the dreamer’s tomb.
Art-Colored Glasses 
You’ve obviously been reading my blog (just kidding) … I like it when your sketches and your words come together to illustrate something intangible, and yet visceral. Nicely done.
Oh, my dear, I hope there’s ever so much that’s brighter and lighter in your reality than in my fiction! I hope it with all my heart. But I know you can appreciate fictional craziness no matter what the reality, so I thank you for your indulgence.
Accurate description of a Night Terror…I think they call it Sleep Paralysis now. Happens when I stress-out for too long. Not nearly as often as when I was younger, thank God…
Night Terrors? Something that would be desirable to cure, I should think!! But *then* what exactly would I write about next, I wonder.
Well, this is one posting of yours I’m glad I’m reading now, in mid-afternoon. I want to go to bed with a smile, not a shriek! 🙂
And there wasn’t even anything eight-legged in this one! 😉
Dark and brooding. It well depicts that sad plight of the insomniac.
I am unspeakably grateful that, generally speaking, insomnia is just fiction in my world. Long may it remain so!