That whirling happens fast again,
     I feel my grip is lost.
My mind entranced in foggy shroud,
     and to it deep accost.
Colours run like molten wax,
     they mingle, mix; a mess.
The twirl and twist in state confused,
     then leave me in distress.

The cobble street appears again,
     a dream I can't escape.
Or mayhap it's reality,
     that o'er my world doth drape.
And if I fling back curtain,
     instead of merely peeking.
Would I find the answers I have sought?
     Solutions I've been seeking?

I ground myself in foreign land.
     with aim to learn its goal.
Immersing all my senses,
     as the dreamland takes control.
I'll leave behind Yolanda,
     as for now she'll harm me not.
Her energy is spent for sure,
     she's used up all she's got.

I'm sitting on a wooden chair.
     I feel ornate design.
The carving on the legs a perfect gift,
     almost divine.
The varnish slides beneath my skin,
     on fingernails it catches.
Stopping, starting, digging in,
     and leaving ugly scratches.

I feel the build up under nail,
     then flick it from my finger.
Acting quick, prevention,
     so discomfort doesn't linger.
I'm fuzzy now, how is it so,
     that here I came to be.
I remember not my journey,
     Am I reason's escapee?

I sense I am not here alone,
     and spy through doorway crack.
An eye that peers into the room,
     against a backdrop black.
It hovers there for moment few,
     the from sight disappears.
And gives me chance to see the room,
     formed of many years.

The pattern on the walls,
     a gaudy floral styled motif.
Imposes on the room and grants,
     its tenants no relief.
The fauna somehow evil,
     as if it too has eyes.
And plots in population,
     for my timely curt demise.

The flowers oft repeat all clumped,
     together in their groups.
Ring a ring of roses,
     in a hellish hail of hoops.
A table centred in the room,
     at which I seem to sit.
A sideboard and a bookcase,
     that the period befit.

To say I feel imprisoned here,
     is accurate and true.
My body fastened firmly,
     with a sticky hidden glue.
But though this is the case,
     I never feel that this is strange.
More a means for to continue,
     just a way to aid exchange.

The cobbles through the window make,
     for dreary boring view.
The foliage around them caked,
     in morning's gift of dew.
A noise then bursts on centre stage,
     with fanfare introduction.
Prancing round and rousing me,
     with polished proud production.

"You'll play with me," the voice commands,
     in prim and proper prose.
"You know your place, I'm sure you do.
     My slave I doth suppose."
My furrowed brow she sees I think,
     her head tips to one side.
And move I can't as out she struts,
     from place that she did hide.

A petite girl, and young in age,
     I'd say her nine or ten.
A frilly dress and so ornate,
     on cuff a stain of pen.
"You're awfully rude" she states her fact,
     and tiny finger wags.
Her words I hear but context lacks,
     my understanding lags.

A sweetness there I see a side,
     of sheer unbridled charm.
Beneath the dictatorial stance,
     that causes first alarm.
My mouth it moved and speaks a word,
     "Sorry," all it voices.
Completely out of my control,
     beyond my current choices.

"Shall we play?" the girl enquires.
     I feel my body tense.
As apprehensive fears,
     doth surround what may commence.
My body stands and walks, "Please stop!"
     I shout inside my head.
I cannot make it do a thing,
     my influence is dead.

Then she leads me forward,
     to a door with locks so braced.
And from her pocket, key produces,
     with unreher-sed haste.
The click as tumblers move inside,
     traverses eerily.
The air a welcome conduit,
     for shackled timpani.

Stepping lightly after her,
     the rug now underfoot.
I feel the pile dig into sole,
     deliberately put.
Each fibrous end like needles,
     that lie in sight so plain.
Waiting for to pierce me,
     pierce and bring me pain.

And yet continue forth I do,
     it seems without a care.
Silently obeying,
     in my state of disrepair.
Then a spark of aching pain,
     inside the furthest reaches.
My brain begins to process,
     past the fallen boundaries breaches.

The rumbling climax distant,
     yet not so much as to deceive.
Not hidden from my psyche,
     but a prompt I should perceive.
A speck on calm's horizon,
     a rising blackened moon.
Obscuring radiant rays of sun,
     a dawning out of tune.

With ghostly hands aside my head,
     I squeeze with all my might.
Trying to contain the pain,
     to quench his appetite.
Who is this girl? This world unknown?
     This unfamiliar scene?
My spirit's head is launchèd back,
     and hollers out "Celine"

Just as before the world begins,
     before my eyes returning.
Yet in my head that wretched pain,
     at once commences burning.
The sights and sounds begin to fade,
     far to quick to grasp.
And to the world I fear each time,
     the entrance doth unclasp.

That deafening black that covers me,
     I know what to expect.
I'm seated on the throne again,
     my time to circumspect.
I watch and wait, the storm will rise,
     by now I know the drill.
The whining noise, the brilliant green,
     the sound so over-shrill.

The clouds, the thunder, quickens now,
     the moment sloweth not.
Mayhap my expectations,
     of the time I since forgot.
Oh how I wish in certain ways,
     my ignorance returned.
To put a greater distance from,
     myself and what I've learned.

The emerald snakes attack the Earth,
     with fearsome fangs they bite.
Again, again, they pound the ground,
     and burn lines in my sight.
Like memories that will not fade,
     a constant overlay.
That hover over everything,
     that through my eyes doth play.

But then the feeling hits me,
     the throne is not at all.
I'm seated in the graveyard,
     with my back against a wall.
Each time the flashes fill the air,
     the scene for instant quick,
a bright illumination,
     so obscene it makes me sick.

Yolanda's rugged torso,
     a top a kind of cage.
And frantic now she seems to be,
     obsessed and in a rage.
I call her name, she freezes still,
     I've caught her in the act.
It's time to see, how royalty,
     red-handed doth react.

"Xav!" she screams. "I'm sorry Xav,
     I'll tell you everything.
Just help me out." she clearly pleads,
     aloud continuing.
"We have to get her out of here,
     if not she's going to die."
And then I see a sight to which,
     her words would justify.

The lightning with final roar,
     retreats as it fatigued.
Leaving there a prize for me,
     to spy and be intrigued.
Inside the cage a woman loosely wrapped,
     from toe to head.
Convulsing, moving, shaking,
     she is far from looking dead.

Her skin so pale, limbs so thin,
     a corpse emaciated.
My gaze is stuck, my trance engaged,
     on subject captivated.
"Help!" she screams out yet again.
     "Help!" amongst the weeping.
It's then I see the pool of blood,
     that from the cage is seeping.

I drag my groggy carcass forward,
     responding to the sound.
My body bruised and battered,
     from events of battleground.
I reach the cage, a thunder clap,
     cries out unto the night.
Serving darkness platter sweet,
     to sate his appetite.

Yolanda's hands are through the bars,
     she works at feverish pace.
Permeating metal, she subverts,
     the carapace.
Fingers dancing daintily,
     she works some kind of tube.
Connecting it in fashion quick,
     to silver coloured cube.

A light aside the cage,
     translucent tube illuminates.
In and out of body,
     as Yolanda operates.
It's then I see the crimson tubes,
     now tethering the pair.
Falling from her shoulders,
     separating parts of hair.

They slowly pump, pulsate perhaps,
     as if with life infused.
Their purpose now quite obvious,
     as ruby runs suffused.
Her chest an open cavity,
     as truths on me impart.
Protected in transparent shell,
     Yolanda's beating heart.