She struggles with distinguishing the real from the imaginary.
An unknown hand paints pictures in her mind,
a canvas of illusion the strongest rain fails to wash away.
Chunks of ice chip away at the surface.
To believe it is a dream is feeble-minded
for the thought process has become a bit skewed;
frozen in a paralyzed state where mind and body do not interact.
The little tics she has tell her the world is not pure
Not a bed of white silk sheets she may rest upon when her inner feline claws at her cerebrum
engraving images into her mind
quicker than her lame legs can keep up
She has come to learn that none of this is true.
The wars of her mind are at times much more powerful
than those of the land she struggles to call her own.
The importance of it all remains unclear.