I don’t know what to say.
I choke on my words as they linger in my mind
Refusing to come out of my mouth.
It seems that everything I have ever said
Has turned stale with age.
It’s all been said before,
All been done before.

Maybe you’re right,
Nothing matters.
Those storybook romances don’t exist.
They never did, we just wanted it to be real.
There is no reality except this cancer
That spreads through me . . .
This darkness that has filled me so
That I can’t tell if the world has tainted me
Or if it was in me and it has just spread out so far
That I can’t see past my own world to see the reality
That the world may actually hold for some.

So I guess I’ll never be happy
In the real world or my own little delusion.
If the white knight doesn’t exist, then I can be no princess . . .
I can’t be saved from this dark tower of my own creation
And if I can’t be saved, then I cannot love,
For love is light and that no longer lives in me.


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Copyright ©1997 by Carol Hopwood. All rights reserved.
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