SchuylerAlexander

Ogres dream Of unicorns... And cream.

Sometimes closing your eyes is the same as opening them - opening them to look upon what only you can see. You see things, terrible things, moving in the shadows of the night but you believe - you know - there is nothing there. The silhouette of your desk starts to morph into something otherworldly, indescribable; gruesome and horrific. The shutters make what few rays of streetlight are getting into your cluttered bedroom dance around like cruel little demons. Dancing and cackling, coaxing you with nasty grins on their deformed faces, all at your psychological expense. They dance around in your head. You want to call out for help but you know