As if escape exists.

Of all the ghosts I think I'm most alone. I'm ravenous for someone else's breath. My best friend thinks of her easy beauties, "Whatever, i fake it well, that's all."

I smile, don't take it personally. I like the taste of my cracking lips, pulling apart. I watch from afar my failing sight barely staving off the cruel laughter, my own of course. Most loyal a mockery of hope.

I tell myself that there are things I need so as to give the waiting a purpose. Whatever, i'm good at faking it.

My very faith makes me a liar. Now I don't cry. "If I weren't here alone before, I am now." It's what I mention to fall into sleeplessness. Still it's alright.

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (6/11/04)