Study In Kafkaesque

I slowly come to as light creeps across the floor and dissolves what I thought had fallen through the torn sides of a dream. Nothing is there but the scuff marks left by fleeing ghosts. Unalterable facts assemble and lock shut around a narrowing space housing all that I think I am. Faces appear and find their place in the gallery of portraits, some smiling others wearing a haunting sadness. Love attaches and takes up the tension as thoughts move and stretch, each nerve linking to a loved one. I hold on and hope it's enough. Then fear rummages through its wardrobe of masks, trying on each to see what best fits the day. It likes to look ahead. Morning begins its rituals to hold back a harm that hangs over me or stop the countdown ticking towards some menacing, undisclosed catastrophe.