Time is elastic

around 3am

and I can only see

in black and white.


I dream of a witches hollow, of dark claws.

I dream of blood soaked carpets, of shadowy figures.

I dream of dark rooms, of a million doors

and staircases to nowhere.


The neat packing paper of the day

has been ripped

and now I’m a stranger

in a strange land

within myself.


Are these echoes of a distant memory

or a dream from another dimension

of myself?

Worse still, am I the killer or the killed?