Tuesday, December 24, 2013


Clawing and Scratching at the door, 
fingers bleeding, 
chest heaving, 
thoughts deceiving, 
choking on stale dreams, 
childhood dreams, 
dusty and (almost) forgotten dreams, 
nothing here is as it seems.  
Her head is tightly tucked between her knees, 
telling herself that none of this is Real, 
but Real is all that she can see.  
If she can't see them they can't see her . . . 
A child's concrete confusion is her eternal conclusion 
and her eventual escape is her personal delusion.