Polyonymous

She haunts the mirror. Her body is an icicle twitch. I always wanted to be dead. I want her more than blood. I want her more than addiction. I want her more than desire. She is freedom; I know not what bids her movement. I infatuate a glimpse. She cries for herself; she cries for the misery of us. I suppose she is unaware how I feel; I wonder if others feel the same.

The soft membrane inside a dead man, sensitive sweetness, gentility of a gentleman, instinctive independence, weary untouchable; mist covers the river, I wonder how she will cross over.

How can this be? How this hurts me, how much misery, how much sorrow?

Levitation of meditation, spider without a web, owl without her mistress, tailless snake, spiritless conviction; a moment is an eternity for me.

I desire the stillness of darkness; thus is her garment.

My lust is a fool. I am lost without her. A shattered mirror spreads into a nightmare. Existence evades her better interests. I think of her always. I think I am mad.