Woven in silk depression even though pure,
I hang slightly on every strand.
I could weave a moment around me
                                        and hang static.

Would anyone notice the slight stillness ensuing
on my web of thought. Or would I just be
a cocooned memory hanging on my own
                                               web of depression.

Only feeding upon myself... A trap of my own doing,
feeding on the misery that I have woven not
realizing this web is  
                                  to capture myself.

Even though my syllables ballerina
may falter, my metaphor's never
                                                  falter.

I balance my wording between
the lines of reality and
                                   fantasies realm.

Dancing upon the imagery of
others thoughts and lives.
                           Living their words.

I'm a ballerina of imagery, feeding
there visual needing, I dance upon
                           their needing of word

Does love exist!
                                  Is it a fancy....
                   Is it only found in mythology!

                                    With her.....
                                       Love
         Like the kiss between Arwen and Aragon

                                    With her.....
                                       People
         Labeled me the lover.....However I'm in reality
                                    I'm a friend!
                              What is my crime!