She tried so hard to rid of them but they fill her up like bathwater.
If there is nothing missing why the fuck can't she sleep at night like any normal person.

All she ever had was words.
It's her breath and her choma.
They become her emotions, her lust, her passion and her perfect romance.
The written word is powerful, she knows that more than anyone.
She is the creator of herself.. constantly changing.
Improving, building up, breaking down, tearing apart and dissolving.
It's a manuscript and she knows she can make it come true by putting two's together.
Words never let her down.
Not at all like people do.
That was why she cut them off so easily and painlessly.
With words there were a deeper connection. Much harder to erase than any human she has ever known.

All they get to know is her outer actress any way they turn and any way the try.
To let anyone in would be a mistake.
To leave every person out on the other hand, is foolproof.

Did you think that person was me?
Did you really think so?
I am just the written word.
A fucking tornado of bulletshaped words.
This isn't poetry. It's just performance.


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