Ghosts

They were never just dreams, they are the echoes of the subconscious that I have tried to bury with the shovel of time, believing it to be of a finite life. But it lies next to me, haunts me in my sleep. What people consider as escape is the one that has been chaining me. No, they were never just dreams, they were the spirits of regret, the ghosts of an existence that could have blossomed had I not chosen to cut its own life before it could even see sunrise.

Despite all, anything that contains you will never be a nightmare.