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