By: Noemi Elliott

This is not paranoia,

the fear…

is not paranoia

yet it crawls down my throat in the dark,

an itsy bitsy spider gliding down my esophagus.

I imagine how

Cinderella went to the ball,

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall,

Belle married a beast,

Goldilocks enjoyed her just-right feast

instead of the sickening sense of reality as the walls close in,

hoping a white horse will save me from the impending crash of conflicting realities.

For if it doesn’t,

the lock on my cage will be swallowed

by the creature lurking within.

Cinderella went to the ball,

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall,

Belle married a beast,

but… now those dreams all cease.