In her dream,
She was drinking latte in an unknown country,
when the man approached her,

my wife hates you, he said,
you have to pay extra for the coffee.
She had to go,
for fear of the jealousy in his wife's eyes,
because of everything she had.

She has always been privileged,
The princess of a rich kingdom.
The precious one in the family.

Occasionally she heard bad news,
about women in other countries,
but surely, she thought,
they were too violent to be true.

Then she's walking down the street,
newly paved, the king's pride
a group of girls and middle-aged men
gathered in the town square.

A girl's arm reached out from the car window,
She took it, their fingers briefly unite,
before the girl's head was split by a knife.

The streets were saturated with red things,
The girls were murdered one by one,
while she watched, helpless.

Then she felt a hand tightening behind
the back of her head,
In her dream, she became one of the girls,
She's no different from them.

Always at that point, she woke up.
What's wrong, he asked, you were paralyzed with fear.
I had the most lucid and helpless dream, she'd reply.

But surely it must be a dream,
It's too violent to be true
or is it she's sleeping now,
oblivious to anything?