Half of her is here, the other
In her dreams,
Where she spends most of her time,
Like the child she is.
She looks at her hand while she moves,
Carrying on with her daily tasks;
She looks at her feet while she walks,
Doing whatever she has.
She starts to wonder if
Her hands and her feet, are even really hers
To begin with;
It all seems so distant, so surreal,
Funny how she feels like she’s in a dream,
Whilst dreaming of her dreams.
She’s here, but not here;
Because when we die,
Only our body remains,
Our soul is elsewhere.