Crisp linen sheets
Like the Autumn leaves
Broken twigs
Like broken wings
Of a bird or a butterfly
Perhaps mine

We are all puppets
Manipulated by our minds
Caricatures of our true selves
We live
Like comic book characters
Actresses and actors

The words and pictures
Evidence of our existence
But mine is a child's diary
The unruly handwriting
Stick figures and paper planes
Fairy tales and day dreams

All too soon
They will be forgotten