Finding sanctuary in her sleep 

she eats

her dreams

To keep herself from starving.

She tells sweet stories from her bed,
Where magical places can be found on the pillow,
And the tears can
leak
onto the
sheets
When the living dream is mundane and hollow.

Waking every few hours, 

To note the time the clock portrays.

Letting it also eat the day away.
Measuring the light and dark so carefully,
We forget
that
we
too
spin.
And now she is disregarding
Time’s very own mechanism;
She lays
Her head
Back down.

Hours pass, just like the days.
All of it lost in a fantasy within her distorted reality.
The food rots in the kitchen.
Her thoughts rot in her mind.
Nothing is the same,
Nothing was ever sane.

She jumped in and out of her stories.
Hoping her own narration wasn’t boring.
Naive, as well as stubborn
She unknowingly traveled into a nightmare--
Walking away from her bed
She felt so cold,
Not understanding it was she that was dead.
Her dreams still persist,
for life,
was her unwanted gift.