The search for sanity

I thought I paid my debt to the universe. I thought I would be featureless; hanging there with rotten flesh. It was the red roses I took from to lay upon my bare skin. I saw their color forming circles of sanity across my arms, my legs. It was then, I knew, my colors could not be any different. I had to cut my veins wide open, colored blue, to turn and burn; transform into my everlasting need for being nature's daughter. A pile of roses on a dark stage, thrown by a noisy audience, grading my effort; the aftershock, the after life of a wave, knowing it will not see life again.

My flesh had to be a part of the garden I grow my flowers in.