Incubus

[shanmonster]

Tactile hallucinations are indicative of brain damage.
I don't recall any bumps to the head.
So why do I feel your hands on me?
My thoughts never match reality.
Your nails are sharp, and so are your teeth.
I know because they scrape me.
I know because they wake me.
A subtle shift in night sends me chasing the thrill of night terrors.

I should flee to the arms of a saint,
to the grasp of the perpetually unloved.
Patient. Not jealous. And so very palpable.

But I flee to my demon of sleep,
to the clasp of the priapically absent.
Jealous. Impatient. And so greatly desired.