Abby the Stabby - 8

A house in the distance, the sound of a crowd

A noisy commotion, chaotic and loud --

Familiar, this feeling (cuts right to the quick)

Of violence and danger that makes her feel sick;

"God, even the voices sound almost the same --

I feel like the sucker in my head's shell game...

To deal with those people is stressful enough,

Without my subconscious to likewise rebuff;

I don't need a dream to reveal that landscape,

It's already somewhere that I can't escape:

A house gone to turmoil, a family at war,

What I would give to not hear any more!

But the dream wadnts to face it, and won't let me hide

I wonder how much of this I can abide)..."

The instant she enters, the noise makes her cringe

Before the front door can swing shut on its hinge --

There's too much in common, the real and the dream;

It all starts to ripple, as room fills with steam,

And petulant Duchess, abrasive and rude,

Nurses her burdens while screaming for food;

Never a kindness, in word or in deed

For anyone else with a want or a need

As froggy-eyed cook stirs a bubbling cauldron

"More spices," he notes as he tastes the concoction 

(Despite the complaints, it's too over-peppered --

One might as well try to scrub spots off a leopard

Than try to convince him to cut down the heat);

Trigger his anger, doubt his conceit,

He flies off the handle in frantic distress,

And kitchenware flies in a tantrum of mess...

Gathering her thoughts for a moment (plus two),

Trying to think about what she should do,

When out of the noise comes a calm, playful voice,

"You look like a person who's faced with a choice:

Stay here and suffer, or leave and be free;

We're all a bit mad here, as any can see.

Chaos like this can make the head spin,

So move it already," he says with a grin.

"But which way to go? I'm hopelessly spun

As it is, and I can't understand anyone --

I want to get out of here, once and for all

(At this, she sits quiet and tries not to bawl).

"All ways are weird, and they only get stranger,

Some filled with silliness, others with danger...

You could choose to stay here, and sit on your butt,

But as for myself, I prefer the shortcut."

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© Jackson Cambridge, 2016.