pins and needles down my spine,

pines and cones on a bowl.

i held the delicate red wine and walked

across the room,

shattered dreams and mindless riddles

wore me down

and i saw not the lining between

gray and silver,

a fast slap woke me up

from my slumber

and on the floor i was.

grumbling about pines and cones

all gone, for the fog

had parted all too well –

red splattered on the floor,

needles and pins i could feel

a prickling sensation

all over but the terror held me,

squeezed at my lungs when

i could no longer seek sweet wine,

a cut on my legs, red.

what was it i wanted to remember?

i could not, that silver and gray

lining now too had parted

and all i had to do was walk across the room.