Backdropped by shimmering cardboard trees,
Outlined in exaggerated greens,
She throws fistfuls of pink glitter towards the sky.
Dreaming, she twirls amongst the lifeless branches.
They stretch out to her like the desperate arms of the dying.
Broad, manufactured grins plastered on her perfect face,
Her eyes, dark and staring, point elsewhere,
To an impossible inward place,
Where trunks, tall and gnarled, rise like skyscrapers,
The space between them dark and uncertain;
Where beasts, cruel and hungry, prowl in the darkness,
Moving ever towards the forest's center;
Where smiles, weak but genuine, hang in the air,
Suspended on spiderwebs;
Where the blackness is slowly receding.
Dreaming, she twirls amongst the lifeless branches,
Trapped in a lasting uncertainty of what could be.