Steem-Pocalypse Poetry Day 6--Round 2

Poison

It’s hard to live in the present
when comfort is the memory of the past.
Pretty mushroom?
Ugly mushroom.
I wish
I could believe
I were Alice.
I wish I could believe
we might have a real nice
trip and escape
the present.

When will this
become the new normal?
Do I have to forget
the past? Maybe dismiss
it as a dream.
Maybe I can convince
connive
con
myself.
It was the nightmare.
This is the gift.