BRANCHES

The thin, long shadows reach through my window and across my bedspread. They remind me that though, long after the sun has taken its rest, the moon stands sentry from above, its gaze gives life to otherwise innocuous figures in an altogether deranged manner. Where once the branch of a tree might wave haplessly from above, it now looms treacherously. Its sharp corners mean to graze the arm of the silent sneakerby. I pull the blanket to my chin and remind myself of the difference between real and imagined sensations only to become acutely aware of the many different forms that pain can take when left to the resting mind.