Half-glimpsed not seen in silver mirrors,
Cutting my nerves like glass.
I have let myself be trapped
too long
In strange, fantastical places.

Nightmares, dreamscapes.
Lonely, dark-eyed child whispers.
I took the balloon, the half-torn ticket,
Climbed aboard.  Belts clicked into place.

Sometimes fear is a good thing,
hands gripping a steering wheel,
children dozing in back seat.
Sometimes – lights out – I just need some sleep,
to
stop
running