The night Before,
He was at peace with circumstance:
Acclimated and accepting.
Slotted into a niche only a Maker could carve,
He calmly welcomed oblivion as he laid his head down,
With faith-in-comfort pillowing his head from inconvenience.
As his eyes closed,
He hears the skittering of tiny feet,
Alerting him to witness,
The light cast from his window,
And so did he.
‘Es wird begonnen’ a voice announces,
Waking him, bypassing the protection he afforded himself,
In the form of an invisible pillow.
His eyes faltered, doubling back, again again again,
Stuck in a loop:
*Here is your room with your things with your mistakes and your trophies..
But different; while visibly this is home,
Something is unseen.
Look for missing context:”
Repeat sequence, ad nauseam.
Time passed as his world stood still until:
‘In die Realität zurückkehren’ rings in his head.
He staggers drunkenly to open die Tür,
Breaking into a dark and obfuscated Flur,
He Schau in den Himmel to see only darkness,
Beseitige ihn von allen Seiten.
In the shadows he slips and loses his voice on the way down,
Croaking echoes of self-preservation:
“Wo bin ich,
Und wo ist Mein Ich”,
His voice degrading to a gravely scratching of claws on wood.