I heard him cry,

I heard him cry,

I thought I did

Perhaps it was a dream

Mayhap it was real

Sometimes there is no difference,

Little is manufactured

All is chaos.

The drunken shadows play

At silhouettes

A masquerade of unease

Where is the sense in it

The Ravens caw

Black faces in the dark

The whites of wide eyes gleam

Fear is a living thing

It must be a dream

War is like that

The sticky taste of blood

And the smell

If there is a smell it must be real.

People fly by

I am reminded of an advert

This must be an illusion

Shapes of things

The wonder of delusion

When old women wail

As the sticks are piled high.

It is me

I am the witch

It is within me

To bring it to an end

The houses are hollow

The wardrobes are full

Of magic.

People rattle around

Skittles falling

As I adjust my perspective

To the lying down.

Do my legs move

Because I will them to

This must be a dream

There is no peace

No escaping it

Not even in sleep.

The truth of it lies in the eating

I have never tasted anything worthwhile

In a dream.

Let them eat cake

She said

It is as tasteless as dry bread

Wake up

You sleepy head

Wave if you hear me cry

Don’t if you are dead.

Find the sense in me

Carve it out

Bring it on a plate instead.