FLOWERS

Reality comes.  Dreams go.
I lie inside myself for days and hours
swallowed up in the sounds of screaming flowers.

"Where did all the flowers go?"---
Flowers of beauty, innocence and love.

Were they drowned in your vat of Crimson Red?
Or smothered in the darkness of your suffocating coffin?
Or hung upside down to be preserved, withering and dying?

Whatever.  Now they are fucking dead,

eternally crumbling into shreds.

Reality comes.  Dreams go.

I lie inside myself for days and hours,

covered with memories of dead flowers;

In touch with only my rampant chaos.

Trapped in the seclusion of the self

with no exit from this violent hell,

no shedding of this vile serpent shell.

Microsoft Clip art

Reality comes.  Dreams go.

I lie inside myself for days and hours,

knowing I am one of your dead flowers.

What sleeps beyond this lonely refuge?

Merely the inescapable nightmare of chaotic strife

and the resulting prison, people call life.

Dare I wake---

So dreams may come and reality may go?

DEV

9/21/2004