I cannot seem to catch the murderer in my room
I lay petrified, tangled in a blanketed cocoon
And like every night I tend to fall asleep
Then wake up, startled, frightened and weep

I creep over to the side of my bed
I’m on my knees, bending over, face red
“It was just a dream,” I try coaxing myself to believe
But my mind’s boarding an unnerving train that’s about to leave

My head gets so heavy with thoughts I tumble forward
Off the bed, onto the floor, feeling helplessly cornered

I fling and flail my cold limbs around
Trapped in a blanket that’s holding me down
I break free, leap up, and turn the light on
My room is empty, is he really gone?

No! I see him out of the corner of my eye
I spin fast around, I can’t scream, I’m tongue tied
My legs go numb, as my eyes study him
He’s around my height, pale skin, and feminine

My hands are empty, they hold nothing but sweat
His are empty too; he doesn’t seem like a threat
He looks as though he got hit by a train
Why do I feel sorry for my murderer? Am I going insane?

I reach out for his cheek, to wipe away a tear
But instead I feel his hand, on a cold hard mirror.