Darling ghost, the web of lies were woven in a poem. Now that I no longer write a poem, my lies lay bare in its ugliness. So, I sleep and sleep. I work my head to read but I can not feel the words. My head is full of dream. I keep searching for happiness in another soul, but happiness lie within me. Why can't I just see that it lies in me? I need to stop searching in the eyes of my unknown lover.
Your webless spider.