Something is caught in her dream catcher,
That is hung beside a fancy chime,
And dances to a strange tune.
Spontaneously she heard her name being called,
Slipped and fell down a pit pitch dark,
Soft landed on her brainstem.
She found herself entangled in her own dream,
Walked up and tried to fix every loose ends,
Trimming the extra growing thoughts off the limits,
Caught a few wandering images of the past,
Gossiping to images in the cell named the ‘Present’,
Dragged them back to where it belongs,
Bearing the stench of brain matter.
That’s when she woke up,
To the same old nightmare,
Tired of her shift.
– Emily Parker