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 him.

Without a cure.