Only I wasn't steering anything, not even myself.

I woke to the sound of rain.

The tulips are too red...they hurt me.

My worst habit is my fear & my destructive rationalizing.

How frail the human heart must be - a mirrored pool of thought.

I wish to cry. Yet, I laugh, and my lipstick leaves a red stain like a bloody crescent moon on top of the beer can

I am dead to them, even though I once flowered.