Reoccuring Dream

An empty room
With an obvious presence
I can smell the smell
Of a familiar essance

One hand over my mouth
Another round my throat
I take a deep breathe
To keep myself afloat

No point in struggling
I'm weakened and sore
I pray for the day
When it won't hurt anymore

I can hear a clock tick
So loud in the silence
This must be the countdown
To the end of the violence