As she grew, so did her experiences,
broadening, deepening in intensity,
sense-sharp spectrum of feeling.
When she shrank, the world contracted,
telescopic, microscopic microcosm,
narrowed perception through muted senses.
She’d been shape-shifting for a time
fixed in perspectives, unquantifiable.
In her mind, it began when her up-and-down
parallel lines softened in space, curved relatively,
and she realised she was already falling
down a rabbit hole of emotional vertigo.
It was a place where you run
until you choke on burning breath and
still only reach your starting point,
where surfaces shift through paradox.
She’s moving in all directions at once.
There are times when it’s easier
to pretend you don’t exist,
that you’re just a vehicle
for shifting perceptions of others.
Falling down the rabbit hole, she
reached magic constant velocity,
total release from self-imposed self.
Wonderland’s a mesh of mirror-maze
detachment and full-force feeling
and she rides the pendulum like
a long-distance run; time contracted,
relative to a microcosm of perceptions.
There are times when she’s sure
it’s all just a dream; except that
she doesn’t dream, usually, or not
that she remembers. Memories meld
pseudo-memories, neuroplastic neurons
forged by transient imagination.
Logic-lost, she’s drifting in a world
where time has no meaning and
light-wave perspectives curve space.
You can run but you won’t get anywhere,
distance dissolved infinitesimally in
an illusion of motion. Like herself.