It comes on slow, always in the night, always when he's sleeping.

He thinks the demons are really there, the screams are so deafening.

The pain and suffering burning through him like the fires of hell.

There is no escaping, even though he is desperately begging for it.

He wakes in a cold sweat every time, panic rising in his chest.

Looks over to the bed next to him where the calm to his rising storm should lie.

It's empty, as it always is, night after lonely night.

And just like the night before, he dies a little more inside.