I often hear stories told
Of a figure watching one sleep
Commonly it walks towards
Occasionally it stands solid
In the corner
They speak of him like a monster
A scary wight with ill intent
The fear that creeps up their spines
As he lurches over their body
Seconds away
Though I can’t relate to those
Who know him personally
Instead I can’t see him
I can only hear his voice
And he might not mine
They call my savior a demon
But when I silently scream for help
Unable to move my slumbering vessel
He desperately calls out to me
Jolting me awake










