Questions

I'm a quiet girl
Never mind my soliloquies
I do it alone
Like mad Ophelia; muted
Shrieks that wring these purple veins
Into a splinter of wild pink poppies
Swaying, teasing, blinding: I float in ecstasy.

You baulk at my idiosyncrasies
Mad, you call me
Let me tell you
It is as good or bad as Hamlet's antics
Hear me out
This mad girl knows the rules of the game.

So
Don't question me again
My friends
Don't make a liar out of me.
All I want is
To lie face down
On this dew-drenched morning grass
And sing my swan-song.