On Top Of Me A Dead Body Climbs Poem by James McLain

Deep is this sleep when it comes.
Inside of your head floating from dream to dream,
as if dead.
Some times a woman, some times a man,
it is the children like yours whichever is worse.
That do me in.
I can't escape I am trapped.
Being a male they mess with my parts,
until at the end I cry out.
Paralized I cant move make a sound you can hear.
Sweaty sheets I bolt up to the top,
just to be dragged back in.
Death in life for the one that they find.