It was her second round of Chemotherapy.
It made her so sick, but she
Would get better. That seemed to be
The codename these days.
The only exception of this was an
Excuse to be terminally ill.
She lied there in bed, dreaming of
Riding a ferris wheel over and over again.
The drugs made her think of weird
Shapes, colors, people, things.
Like heroine running through her blood.
Random thoughts. Leonardo da Vinci.
Where did this come from?
Everything filling her head like a
Luminous dream.
Was she in a mental hospital?
It felt like a millennium had passed.
Too much time.
The doctor just told her that her blood count
Was outstanding. A dream perhaps.
Just then, it was like looking through
A portal of time.
This was not her life.