Panick 3

Do you ever worry about going mad, Mother?
I do.  It started one day
when my mind stopped sounding like poetry
or conversation.  The transitions rambled.
I found that my head was off-kilter, or my eyes
wanted blue and red more than usual.  Did you
ever feel that, Mother?
I had hoped it would go away, but internal
monologues don't stop when the script does.
The crazy, I mean.  Why does
it linger?  I would think that better minds
than mine need the twisting.  But what if
we all went out of our heads for a while?
Could that fix things?  If we could forget,
maybe problems would vanish like the ponies on the highway.
Wouldn't they?  Like the posies?  I've never
seen a posy, Mother.