My mind is swirling
Lost in the blinding black.
Colors ricochet throughout my mind’s chambers,
My innermost gardens and intimate places.

Tenderly you touch me there,
And blushing I flee, ashamed.
To know that you see even these private places,
Even the ones which I truly hate.

My shame, my very own ridicule,
It has become a religion to me.
Nay, not religion, simply ritual.
The simple motions I follow through,
As a trained monkey,
Constantly dancing the routines.

-Marie
07/06/2005