Between the Waking Hours ~
I rise up,
slow dancing in the rumpled sheets and glancing,
into the mirror to see if it is still me,
or has the dream waif taken me over?
Red berry lips bitten once,
tousled hair hiding too much knowledge.
Have I fallen down a rabbit hole,
or have the rabbits dragged me with them,
requiring a new,
Is this a pedestal I have climbed,
or steps to the gallows,
hard to tell when
they both lead up.
Whatever copious mounds of gold may rest in chests hidden deep
is nothing piled next to the secrets I hold like red death over all
crushed into pulp in my fists.
I wipe my hands on the sheets
as I steady,
between the waking hours,
and wonder if the vision in the mirror
will miss me,
or does she laugh victoriously to see me go
feeling that she has won…