Lucid In Thought

By Janae Smyth

Let me set the scene

A soft bed warm sheets

A safe haven

A place to rest and sleep

Where imagination runs wild

Where you can live in your dreams

Even for just a while

They say a dream lasts 7 minutes

So why does it feel like hours

Bridge burned between mind and body

The taste is still bitterly sour

They say you can’t die in your dreams

the body is left to cower

death is far too righteous

For the acts in front of the eyelids

Stuck in paralysis

Sheltered behind visions of toys and kids

In the middle of innocent shenanigans

Youngsters trying their hand at rebellion

Just some harmless destruction

Bit of fun in the back of a Ute with a batton

mailbox baseball to entertain the trouble makers

Sun shining, letters flying, ransoms rising by the acre

Anger dissolving its all fun games for the undertakers

Nothing out of the ordinary for this neighbourhood

A young man up to no good

Lucid in thought, eyes covered by their hood

Awoken to find myself a rat trapped in a mailbox

Locked shut with a heavy steel chain and padlock

A parcel big enough to fill the slit

Shouldn’t have fell asleep now I’ve been caught

Eyelids unable to open, lucid in thought

Sounds of the engine closing in

Mini houses laced with paper now laying flat on the pavement

Frozen with fear dreading every movement

A rat trapped in a mailbox left to scurry around until someone opens the lid

No mailman coming to save me on quiet Sunday morning completely off grid

No where for me to escape

Turn off the lights close the drapes

Sounds of pleasure from outside while he...

smashed the box with his club

against the surface it rubbed

Rugged edges pierced the metal prison

Smiles and groans with every hit

Never stopping until it was beaten to shit

Scraping and piercing internally shaking

Inside bruises and cuts with every moment quaking

Muffled screams too small to be heard

Outside was met with a groan and a grin

The rain had started to fall pounding on tin

seeped through the cracks cream coloured drops

Can’t be rain must be something else on top

He wouldn’t stop until he got his fix

That’s how boys get their kicks

Wouldn’t stop until it erupts

Lucid in thought eyes glued shut

Kicked to the kerb left for dead

Paralysed and stripped

Body still laying in this bed

A home torn down to a house

Replaced the me with a simple use

A trapped mouse nothing but a recluse

Lucid in thought eyelids clipped

No stopping until the hunger is fed

Dream catchers can’t catch the monster in this bed

Conscious of the actions while lips stay silent

Inside the imagination told a different story

Left with memories of something so violent

Body paralysed his pleasure it brought

Unable to see the terror outside

Eyes glued shut and lucid in thought

Dream or reality both bring memories of the onslaught

By Janae Smyth