Struggles of vanity, in vanity, for vanity seem to consume even the blaze

Yes, soft embers slowly melt away as I reach for my black parasol

And oddly enough it guards me from even the midnight rains

Which fall upon the unsuspecting beautiful dreamer to disrupt her slumber

Jealous, I suppose, the night feels, for the darkness of my black parasol

Eclipses even the brightest of personal suns

Be not concerned, however, their lights are not extinguished

But rather given time to greater illuminate under the shadow

What is the power emitting from my black parasol?

Wonder, often I, about matters such as this

Though I never question why I do not produce my own light

I simply let the aurora define me

And in this I take pride

Yesterday I lost my black parasol, for a moment in time

But only without its accompaniment

Did I notice

the darkness, not light, I create

And I felt an enormous tear at that yellow wallpaper

to reveal the woman that creeped underneath

And she was beautiful.

And she was dark.

And she was free.

But she was vain.

So I covered her yet again, with my black parasol.