There she sailed to the end of night
With eyes fixed on the dyling vision of delight,
And asked, "How long can I journey
Without hope and despair
Before the morning falls?"
The echo of her words replied.

The little blue and red pills she had taken
For hushing the noise from her typewriter,
Burned her like a flame.
Flame, her passion of life,
A contradictory friends,
Caged her in a labyrinth of simplicity--
A Simple black, the color of each tie and suit.
So simple that she could hardly run away.

The ceiling blurred in her sight
As well as her flaming dream.
"Stop the...." muffled she.
There she sailed to the end of light.

圖："The Dream" by Pablo Picasso