I am awake in my sleep. Through my closed lids, I see tiny, tiny, hot dots. They throb white and red, at times in unison but mostly random.

My mind is in smithereens of a crashed crytal flower. Clear, absorbing the colours around and reflecting for all to see and admire.

I am lucid but fervently wish for insanity. I want to ramble and mumble incoherently. Act and react innocently as I please. At least the reactions and actions of my person will not be analysed and taken seriously. They can put it all down to madness or genius?

I describe things in abstraction, draw parallels that only my eyes and heart see. My humour, dark at times and my wit dry. Twisted, that's a fact.

I have been called an enigma. I am not a riddle for you to figure out. I am someone you can't box in. I refuse. I have come this far and I never look back. I never want to go back there. Don't take me back there.

Petal P. Rose

Taking flight

Winged ant do not take flight

stay awhile and let me enjoy

you

tracing your path, scurry in panic

and going against what

you

already know, your desired paths

stay still, stay, while i examine

you

in the sunlight, pretty veins

that control you. I want to dissect

you

to peel away the folds, the betrayal

of your soul. Just plain, old,

you.

Petal P. Rose