It is just my imagination that flies, While she is wrapped up in her bedsheets like a nest.
I fix the cramped, lined pages with my curious stare. How do you come to exist?
If only you could have witnessed how much I have changed: sit alone in a disused theatre and feel what I have felt, see how the world has transformed me, like the metamorphosis of a caterpillar.
Where is my oasis? Too far from here for me to crawl with these dead legs, refusing to co-operate Hands and fingers clawing uselessly through the grains of sand...
We wrote our names in the sand You crossed mine out: I can't get back to the way I was.
Hold your venom Do you recognise the instinct in me, fellow scorpion?
