“Do I dare ask him for what I want,As if I knew it,Could find it on some pageIn some chapterIn some book?”

“Wish my life were inside a bookSo I could turn to the ending,See if it is a love storyOr a gothic disaster.”

“Am I lonelier nowThan when my sad imaginationHad him disappear?Heart torn,Loosing tiny dropletsOf sorrowNo tape can measureNo needle can mend.”

“I am pretty sure the myth of meIs better than the reality.”

“It is strange to hear my wordsRead back to me.I don't think I wrote themTo have them ever leave the page.I think I only writeWhat happens across my brainWhen my feet are too weary To dance anymore.”

“I hover over myselfWatching.Mind and body separated,Each in controlAs though there are two puppeteersWorking the strings of my marionette self.”

“Her body disappears like my voiceWhen I look too closely in the mirrorWithout the pages of a notebook, a penTo save me.”