Somniphobia

In my dreams, my legs are short

and breathing's no different;

from nightmares, there's no outrunning.

My body keeps thrusting

forward but still, a faceless fiend

grabs me by the nape,

half awake

but somehow still dozy.

Close my eyes, then I'm in Derry.

Pupils move the most

upon seeing the Screaming ghosts.

Lying body, sprinting soul,

Mister Freddy plays his role.

Forgetter, since your passing

on the dried out brooks,

I slumber, aye lost inside

one of Stephen's books.