Showered in oblivion like
the ashes falling on her hair,
she began softly twirling those flowers
as they gasped for air
under her pretty little fingertips and
the clock s l o w l y ran out
until she never even knew
that they were dying.

Her only escape plan was
to become beautifully insane
within flurry clouded dreams,
carousel treated fiction,
(easily forgotten romance obsessions)
and oh-so-small crystalline tears.
But she wanted to be
beautiful backwards and
trippy perfection
but she never quite got there.

because she too fast fell within a taste of
lipstick red doused reality
and fragile jealousy,
and she just wasn't lost like
abstract darkness,
(her -escape-)
just a stark white existence
with too many judging eyes.