I had to flail my arms and run through that park,
Barking, screaming, a lunatic.
It was so bright, even neon, under that sky.
It burned my hands as they moved.
Settled people jumped, became frogs
In a green, green pond.
He screamed for me to fall, trip, fly
Into some watering humiliation.
Hadn't he noticed?
I was wearing his paint-stained loafers
And a slashed sundress,
My hair full of toothpicks.
I already imagined myself elsewhere.
Without a cure.