As I sit near the wooden shelf
she smiles quaintly despite herself
strangely I cannot see
what it is inside of me
that which made her turn away

next
my fate
was cast
to be lost
alone
to drown
in a sea
of obsession
confession
depression

she skips along, my little girl,
on a plane only I can view
until the woman
regains control

and whenever we are talking
I seem to sense her stalking
trying to find in me
what I cannot be
and then I wonder why we play