Nightmares
The things claw their way out of our chests
bloody
mauling rage into our ribcages
to be birthed
dusty
crouching on the carpet.
They set fire to the ceiling,
all clicking tongues and lacquered claws,
and the shadows behind the curtains
wait until the things are gone
and all is ash
to come out into the sitting room
and play with our bones.