Clawing and Scratching at the door,
choking on stale 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.