it's mad season here
& the trolley's
on fire;
her follies were not
strong enough
to keep the car on
the wire

the paintings have
chipped,
much akin to her
mentality
all senses long
since flown
as she broke from
her reality

"it's hell here on
this earth,"
she whispered to
the storm
but on it raged
& on it raged
with no hope yet to
be formed


& she could never quite
forget about
Mars

"the lightning may strike,
my love;
but someday it will all
be ours."