Surreality

Morning after morning

She awakens in prison

Following nights’

Oft-disguised sleep

Dreams, real life’s losses

Seep obscurely into

Her smushed lumpy pillow,

Routine flows from her body

Not yet cogitating

This reality unfathomable.

Bunk made, darkly

Folding herself over covers

Gingerly she clambers

Metal rungs down

She fills long hours

Day by tedious day

With diversions created

For some potential return.

In mind-blowing moments

Thought drops in
“I’m in prison!”

Surreality swamps

Brain’s delicate balance.

Survival “inside” requires

Real-life distance

Immeasurable heartache

Held greyly at bay.

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