Monochromatic, seamless vacant stare,
And I stare in my shadow into some manifold,
Over in my folding gaze, I look then there,
There I ponder on that image, a pitiful soul,
Tiptoe 'round, clicking sound,
Of my heart in lurching motion, piercing sound,
Churns and bucks, and as I speak,
The nurse nods and hears, I rinse and repeat,
Have I answered for this scene,
Have I questioned enough all through and clean?
Did I answer, just as she sighed
'I am beautiful. Am I beautiful?'
A journal in hand, my nurse clinging to his pen,
His guess black thin air, here watching as I stare,
While part of me is gone, I feel it once, then again,
Straight from the cold mirror, not there and not here,
So a metaphor, he then stutters,
Asking if this is a broken heart, romantic sputter,
I then think, and then I cry,
I scream that I answered, and I scream that I lie,
Have I answered for that scene,
Have I questioned myself, the truth and dreams,
Did I answer, just as she died?
'Am I beautiful?' You were beautiful