Your brain is your safety blanket lit by projector.
You see yourself, a rose nuzzled in your face,
the sun caressing your neck as
a sweet breeze and scented trees
assure you that there is something
worth living for.
then it all goes icy
Like the frost on a roadside memorial.
Like the way your mother glared at you,
or the way your father’s smile drops.
The breeze turns harsh, foul, cacophonous.
you’re back home, the scent not one of lavender,
but of self-loathing.
Dive back into your imagined oasis!
Chrysanthemums and cherry blossoms smile so wide
And provide the daydreams in which you’ll hide.