I remember falling into this dream

Awake

Panic

But I was back at Harrahs house

I opened my eyes and Harrah was standing right in front of me

She was naked and bleeding

She was laughing

I remember feeling pain

Looked down and those were my wounds

Her hands she had a razor blade

She started to spin and gave me this look

As if I were her only desire

Harrah turned to

Glittery dust

She swirled around me

The panic within

My feet were cemented in

I tried to scream

No sound was heard

She took that opportunity

To go down my throat

I started to choke

Getting really hot

The cement dried

Up to my knees

Started to feel it

Throb in my calf

That's when I woke up

Stretching my leg

To a nightmare cramp

I was sweating profoundly

AM? PM?

What day is it?

The clock blinks but won’t focus.

There’s a metallic taste on my tongue—like blood, or fear.

I throw the covers off.

Drenched.

Sweat turns the sheets cold against my skin.

My heartbeat doesn’t slow; it stutters, skips, pounds again.

Then the memory hits.

The dream.

Her breath.

That name.

I sit up too fast. The room tilts.

It feels like trying to find balance in the middle of a crowded street—faces rushing past, bodies brushing my shoulders, no wall to catch myself on.

I stumble forward until my hand finds the dresser, cool and real beneath my palm.

For a second I just breathe.

In. Out.

But the air feels thin, used.

I don’t feel whole.

Something’s missing—like I woke without all my pieces.

Empty in places I can’t name.

And that’s when it starts again—

the sense that someone is watching.

Not a person exactly, more like an eye behind the walls.

Invisible cameras catching every move, every breath.

I keep still, pretending to be normal, pretending to belong in this moment.

Because that’s what I do best—

act.

Live a life that doesn’t quite feel like mine.