Escrito el 01-07-2004

…but he’s the sort who can’t know
anyone intimately,
least of all a woman.
He doesn’t know what a woman is.
He wants you for a possession,
something to look at,
like a painting or an ivory box.
Something to own and to display.
He doesn’t want you to be real,
or to think or to live.
He doesn’t love you, but I love you.
I want you to have your own thoughts and ideas and feelings,
even when I hold you in my arms.
It’s our last chance… it’s our last chance…

                            (A room with a view)

Now that you’re gone I’m trying to take it
Learning to swallow the rage
Found a new girl I think we can make it
As long as she stays on the page

This is not how I want it to end
And I’ll never be open again

                             (Space-dye vest)


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