Fuseli's The Nightmare

Tiny steps to nowhere. Walking in circles faster than the earth's rotation. The spinning and spinning of wheels that don't turn anything. Cogs for the sake of cogs. This sad little sense of competition. Opposition. Without ever any aquisition. Never. This is my own demolition. Destruction of truth. I want to be honest. Need to be honest. Honest to myself. But I only find a hole in the place where my brain flickered with fire and ice. Tiny black eyes burn in that green man sitting on my chest. He's strong as an anvil but can choke me with the stealth of piano wire in the dark. He holds my neck extracting air and love and peace from my very lungs. His own wheels are mighty warped oak with a squeak that speaks to the centuries he's been here. Nothing I can do. There's nothing I can do but swallow his stares. And let his spiney fingers penetrate my chest and pull the sanity from me. Pulling himself onto my cogs stopping them with the flicker of his dark eyes. I'm in silence, gasping for air deep under clear blue water. The earth continues to rotate where loves love and lovers love more. I keep up with my tiny steps. The green man in tow, keeping up with the earth. I want to touch that. Wanting to touch that love of lovers. That love. Wanting his touch as a lover.