A Cold Drench

Woke up in it,

a cold film on my skin.

Sheets stuck, a thin shroud,

where does this begin?

Not from running, no fever,

just the inside coming out.

A salt taste on my lip,

a shadow of a doubt.

Pillow soaked where my head lay,

a map of a silent fright.

The room still dark,

but a wet, heavy light.

My own body,

a stranger, slick and mean.