compare me to a starry-eyed poet
that wrote little wisdoms and gentle sorrows
who was too passionate for her own good
tormented by mental malignancy
the cancer that scribbled down her woes
in composition notebooks scattered on the floor
it was far too young a day
and a far too distant night
to keep her heart beating
she was the night sky raining down on stationary
with words like clouds on her mirror;
"a few more breaths, and it will reflect nothing at all."