In a state of catatonic epilepsy, the fragments flux throughout my head.
This paradox lays atop my pillow as I remember about baby steps and think about Bob.
I calmly ask myself to turn the lamp off, but my arm can’t reach the light.
Yelling, “Go-Go Gadget Arm”, I realize my imagination is fake.

Now gone when I need him I lay and wonder, where is Drop Dead Fred.
Anything to get my mind away from this torturous Blob.
Night and day are little monsters beneath my bed with a ferocious fight.
I reach instead for the bottle that makes sounds that shake like a rattlesnake.

After four of those, each vivid memory is as vague as the next
and the paradox continues…

_TRF