Narcissa*

Perfection in the midst of the flowers
The red and blue blood that falls in the despairing pool
As he sat, waiting for eternity to stop and notice him
And so I, the author
The poet, spinning the spirits of tales
I spend my time
In idleness, toying with forgotten ideas
That swim inside my head
But I, being female, must take the role
Of Narcissa
And tell of my distruction
Through the eyes of others.