It is me;
I am holding out two flowers of chaos and confusion.
In my right hand a rose of icy blue,
Deceiving a false sense of tranquility,
It is the sound of conic seashells.
In my left a fiery explosion of petals,
Violent blinding l ights of restless warfare,
And burning passion upon one's soul.
In each hand I am stung by thorns,
And yet,
Sense of self will not allow me to release either bud.
