Nightmares

A slice of light strains in vain through murky glass, pouring shadows into corners like spilled ink. Dust floats and coats the acrid air, white with stale light. The room is always grey, always silent... at first. Until the silence breaks--- splintering like snapped wood. A spindle without thread drops from nowhere, rolls in karmic circles across the floorboards in my head. It stops at my feet; I bend to pick it up. But when I open my palm, it's gone-- And in its place I find an hourglass Then - suddenly - I'm encased in a giant vial of glass, swallowed up by quicksand that turns to sinking ash. I bang bruised fists against glass walls, but the more I thrash, the deeper I fall. I open my mouth to scream--- And I'm a china doll, sitting on a dusty shelf - paralyzed, demoralized, with flimsy limbs, expression grim. All I can do is stare until morning's glare answers my prayers and wakes me up.