Sterile white walls hide the maniacal sorrow,
Frame the wide windows facing nearby rooftops,
Through these endless wells of pouring desire,
she laughs and cries, looking at the same
fields disappearing in the distance.

On mornings after the rain, shallow pools adorn the roof,
where dragonflies gaily dance from each sheening surface.
Their tails entwined, skipping along the water. She cries.
She cries. And the dragonflies dance.
How sad it is to live for anything that blooms against the tide.
The heavy veil that blankets all, disconnecting
everything that meant more than what it first appeared.

How sad the synapses in her mind, growing weaker,
like the eroding gravity of cerebral stars,
senses can’t recall her best memories anymore,
there is only the recognition that it’s slipping further away,
just like the dragonflies dancing from pool to pool,
while all the world is in its final act.

How sad it is, as it all falls to emptiness.
The mind, the universe,
the universe within the mind.