Instinct Unleashed Kind Nightmares [new] ●

It is the midnight thought you do not finish. The hand that hovers over the stove’s red coil. The cliff edge that whispers, step closer, just to feel the math of falling.

So I sit on the floor of the cage at dawn. The lock clicks. Imaginary. The sun rises. Real. And I wonder: What if the monster wasn’t the one who broke free? What if the monster was the one who stayed inside— and called it love? instinct unleashed kind nightmares

I dream I am running. No—I dream I am chasing . And the thing I chase turns out to be my own spine, unspooling like a tape measure across a dark field. “You measured this wrong,” I say to no one. “You always do.” It is the midnight thought you do not finish

Unleashed instinct is not violence. Violence is a language. This is the silence before the first word. This is the wolf remembering it never needed the pack— only the dark, only the rabbit’s last heartbeat, only the mercy of not having to choose. So I sit on the floor of the cage at dawn

Instinct unleashed. Kind nightmares. You are both the cage and the thing that gnaws through it. And somehow, impossibly, that is how you stay human.

These are the kind nightmares. The ones that tuck you in before they drown you. The ones that smile with your mother’s mouth and say, “You’ve always wanted to know what happens next.”