The corridors in our minds are vast and filled with endless thoughts, deeds past, guilt, hopes, and our most brittle fears. No better time than during sleep for the doors to open and fill the halls with that which we strive to forget during the light of day. The dreams in which we are lost, confused and afraid can be the worst, can't they? No matter where we turn there is yet another long stretching distance disappearing into the shadows.
Something stirs behind the doors. A soft hissing across the floor behind us. Light, shadow, sound, they are all our enemies in this place of ghosts, every sense a betrayal, and only fleeting questions trailing at the edges of consciousness call us forward into the darkness. And like obedient children in the sandman's dungeon we run headlong into the waiting shadows and into the arms of mother night.
In a world of irrepressable fear one could hardly expect anything less than despair. Yet somehow we manage to run through this gelatinous universe, though we fail to see what is swift upon our heels is merely our own misdeeds come to torment us in the night. Denial whispers that the monsters aren't of our making, and in those lies we wake to find another day without remorse.
But when our eyes close again and sleep opens the corridors once again the voice of regret returns, and we are back in the monster's playground with no one but ourselves to blame. Something stirs behind the doors. A soft hissing across the floor behind us. We are prisoners one more night in this place of ghosts.
Something stirs behind the doors. A soft hissing across the floor behind us. Light, shadow, sound, they are all our enemies in this place of ghosts, every sense a betrayal, and only fleeting questions trailing at the edges of consciousness call us forward into the darkness. And like obedient children in the sandman's dungeon we run headlong into the waiting shadows and into the arms of mother night.
In a world of irrepressable fear one could hardly expect anything less than despair. Yet somehow we manage to run through this gelatinous universe, though we fail to see what is swift upon our heels is merely our own misdeeds come to torment us in the night. Denial whispers that the monsters aren't of our making, and in those lies we wake to find another day without remorse.
But when our eyes close again and sleep opens the corridors once again the voice of regret returns, and we are back in the monster's playground with no one but ourselves to blame. Something stirs behind the doors. A soft hissing across the floor behind us. We are prisoners one more night in this place of ghosts.
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