I don't exist except
in words of lucid dreams
and fantasy of flesh of loneliness
I am milk and breast
of lustful fists full of blood
and anticipation of self degradation  
I am illusion of hopeless love
tangled in webs of illustrated fairy tales
of hopeless infatuation
Yet in every wish I am
still no more than ghost and hoax
of someone who does not exist
outside of page and ink
of lonely poetry