Last Night Felt Like A Warning

Dreamt the cops were at my door,

saying I’m “unwell,” like I didn’t know before.

Pain in my chest, couldn’t get a word out,

felt their hands on me while I tried to shout.

(“couldn’t talk… couldn’t breathe…”)

Everything blurry, everything cold,

felt like the world had me in a chokehold.

Last night felt like a warning,

like my mind was trying to tell me something.

Running through places I know too well,

but it all felt twisted like a living hell.

(“mmm… no way out…”)

Some guy bragging loud like he’s the king,

posing, flexing, every stupid thing.

Didn’t know him, didn’t want him near,

but he followed me around like he owned the air.

(“so annoying… go away…”)

Then I saw that flat — the one I lived in back then,

abusive walls, memories that never should’ve been.

Same old layout, same old floor,

but heavier now than ever before.

(“don’t go back… don’t go back…”)

Everything familiar, everything wrong,

dreams don’t whisper — they hit strong.

Last night felt like a warning,

like my mind was trying to tell me something.

Running through places I know too well,

but it all felt twisted like a living hell.

(“no doors… no way out…”)

Hallways that felt endless, stretching out long,

faces I once trusted all felt wrong.

Every turn led me back to the past,

like trauma looping, holding me fast.

(“round and round… can’t escape…”)

Last night felt like a warning,

my body screaming while I’m sleep-falling.

Everything twisted, everything tight —

just trying to survive another night.

(“wake up… just wake up…”)