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Isabel Garcia Arnold

My only escape is through the comfort of my dreams,
For when I wake it engulfs me,
Clawing fingers pulling me down,
Leaving me gasping for air,
A bitter, metallic taste left on my tongue.

My sacrifice pays well,
Makes me realise I deserve more, I’m worth more,
And what once was enough is no longer sufficient,
Ideas are wants and wants are just needs
in disguise, you see.

So I grab and I hoard,
Emeralds dance on my fingers,
Now crooked and bony,
But the jewels hide ageing with their sparkling youth.

My eyes gleam in sheer delight
at the sight
of my treasures,
The skin on my face withers and crumples like pages of a book,
But the weight and clink of my pockets
tells me I needn’t worry.

A wide smile stretches its way across my face,
My teeth rotting and brown,
“Replaceable” say the jingles from my pocket,
But they sound quieter,
Suddenly I’m not so sure,
Sitting here alone,
Surrounded by riches and gold; my only friends,
Feeling smaller and more “replaceable”,
than ever.