Not-Scary Nightmares

I woke wet, the kind of tired

that presses down, not with fear

but with the heavy weight

of empty rooms and slow silence.

Dreams folded out like empty beds,

faces blurred, like faces forgotten

in the quiet corners of sleep.

No screams, just soft falling apart.

The shadows lingered with soft footsteps

that never reached a door.

No monsters, just lost things

breathing low and slow beneath the skin.

I reached for paper before dawn,

tracing the ache that didn’t shout,

something that settles like dust,

a quiet breaking I can’t shake.