Inadequacy crept in tonight and wiped the vision that appeared last night –
In which she killed the snake that slaughtered the monkey.
She no longer feels agile. She no longer deems herself competent.
She does not understand how to live in reality,
Instead she strives for indulgent dreams.
Dreams in which a vase of violets convey the colour of mystery;
In which she yearns to know what lies deep within.
Deep within the hollow centre of the vase of violets –
Deep within the inner reaches of all that is concealed from anatomical eyes.
Reaching, reaching – touch is as satisfying as sight.
Revealing remnants of truths, revealing a future that is contrary,
To the concrete tangibility of the antiquated blue porcelain,
That her fingers fumble against.
An artifice that appears complete, and cloaks the void of all that it houses.
Water, violet stalks, and a vacuous air of uncertainty, anxiety, and injustice.
The venom of self-loathing becomes potent as she penetrates deeper.
Yet the desire to probe; to understand the orbits of the human psyche is stronger yet.
She inscribes her epiphanies in the treasures of words,
Hoards each quaint piece, and leaves it as her bequest.
Her vase of violets slip from her grip:
Life is whistling through the air like the hooves of an advancing cavalry.
The death march; rhythmically unified.
The vase shatters.
She finds no more.
- Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho
- The Rules of Monstrosity