Like a thousand struggling mice

Keeping with the insanity theme, a schizophrenic likens his dreams to mice.

My dreams are mice without their bread
Yearning for more, they tend to escape
My dreams won't stay within my head
I tend to see them when I wake

Of course, with others I shan't admit
That I see mushrooms in the sky
They would think it not quite fit
To see such things with no clue why

And yet, when these mice have eaten fill
I don't know where they run
Maybe the man who is mentally ill
Or into his healthier son

Like Cinderella when time's turned midnight
My dreams change form with an unnatural might...

The End

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