Why are you back?
I say as I stare into her cold, crazed eyes, hair splayed across the ceiling, mouth
open as if screaming, but I cannot hear.
Should I be thankful that I cannot hear her screams,
for I know that would mean death?
Why are you back?
I say, as we visit again in the same victorian home visited so many times before in
nightmares once had.
Her home, the ceiling.
Staring into my soul with her mouth wide open.
A dark abyss of screams unheard, words unsaid.
Why are you back?
I say, as she stands in front of me with a look of curiosity in her eyes.
Her hair no longer wild, her home no longer the ceiling.
Bewilderment, no more.
I awake.
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