Frown upon the books I read,
That look, when I stare dreamingly eyed at nothing,
Trying to find the perfect word to finish a couplet.

I am one of those girls you read about,
Enveloped in their fantasy stories, Romance in pages is the only passion I feel.
Sometimes I cant come back to reality, And when I do I am sweating with anticipation and lust after their hot affair.
Action and Mystery concluded in my mind from their words, this is the only function it has now.

Narrated as me,
I was once a oyster girl, Turned rent boy.
I was once mentally disturbed and sent away, and lived with the girl who’s daddy fucked her as she collected chicken carcases.
I once was the daughter of the Prime Minster, Who fucked a terrorist and brought his child into the world.

Yet, she steals me away,
Dawns reality upon me. Bitterly I comply with her demands.
Dead inside,
Nameless, Faceless, loveless and lifeless, Could i be any more less,
But outside,
Its different, I smile as a character in the pages, I smile and she thinks I mean it.

Can I ever distinguish between reality and fantasy.
Will I live a life, without the constant fear that my life is without fantasy, my life is without passion.
Fantasy is escapism, Yet, My life.
Downed in the words I find myself,
Whoever they are, I am, within those pages.

09/07/2007

Posted on 09/06/2007
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