I pondered the thought of insanity
Taking the time to weigh it all up
Feeling the pressure of all consequence
Should I slip up

I began to sift through old recordings
Stashed away in the hope of amnesia
I dusted them off, anticipating
But ready to begin

For in those broken hours formed a lady
Designed by an autistic artist
Those flaws seemed so beautifully *****
Bringing flowers and gifts to her room

I recognised her face in the photograph
Much more dusty than ever before
For the life of me I could not remember her name
She was gorgeous

I endeavoured to find out her meaning
Her purpose, her lifestyle, her goals
In reality, she never knew me
Oh, but I knew her!

Scratching below layer upon layer
Stumbling numb towards truth
Wanting so much, all those flowers
And gifts in her room

For in those broken hours formed a lady
A woman romantically perfumed
Weaving in and out of insanity
Yet, always in truth