I feel like a magic spell.
Cast upon hell, cast upon
everything right with this world.
I feel like an angel,
floating in my own head.
Singing words
into threads of melodic chance.

here hope dies.
   but I still live.
what a terrible, wonderful
   nightmare and gift.

Her essence remains,
it leaks into me, but...
only enough to keep in these
thick growing ropes of deceit
of a self
that cannot reside forever

*no one can see my little girl.
    like I can see her.