A ghost, a god, a person cold at heart

A drug, a dream, a fate I won't embrace

Though it's not my place to choose, not my life to face

It's yours

It's you

My stranger and my china, my figment and my finding

It's you that suffers highly, ceaseless in my mind

My colour, my blind girl, my ever-watchful reason

Your blank eyes, your blue eyes, staring into me

Straw eyes, salt eyes, scattered full of hopes

Such hopes; they live, despite your blackened maze

And the trying of your days

You're a thread within my head, a purpose, perception; praying on my fears

A reminder of my fortunes: Of health. Of life. Of love.

My blind girl

My fiction

My fable full of truth

Your thirst for sight impales me

Your need to breathe impels me

Lusts, and wants, and longings to live life

My conjured crippled girl; you're a hardship lit by cravings

A ghost, a god, a vigor in my thoughts

A reminder in my mind that fate is mine to guide

That time is mine to ply

That hope is found in darkness, no matter how deprived

I am you. You are me; my conscience kindred taming

My note. My soul; you're a fictive thing within me

A presence I've contrived

And yet you do exist. As sight. As seeing. As a vision that implies

That every flash is favour

And I am blessed to be alive