I Woke Up Inside a Poem I Wrote—and I Can’t Get Out!

A surreal descent into the blurred space between creator and creation.

I woke in soft disarray—
Eyes fluttered open, 
But not to my room,
Somewhere bright and liminal.

I feel claustrophobic
As if caught between the bark and the tree
I take a step into nothingness
And trip on pixels, metaphors—
Where am I? 

I look around—I'm on a page, it seems.
Like the cursor on the screen
I can go any which way
I pull back and am stunned by what I see:

"Imagine it being a perpetual state of déjà-vu,
With an almost dreamlike quality—
Where the mind constantly plays 
Catch-up with the present. 

It feels both familiar
And inevitable—
As if it were a memory,
Yet it flows seamlessly
Into the future,
As though you'd already lived it."

Wait... I wrote this! 
Am I the poet, or the poetry?—

"If you could see your life altogether
And know what the future holds, 
Would you be able to cherish the present?"

Trapped in the beauty of the text,
Reality folds, 
And I, a footnote in my own creation, 
On the edge of the sublime,
Tap the 'esc' key
And jolt from the screen.

"Where have you been?" my husband asks—
As a stanza still clings to my sleeve.