I want to be alone, I do. I want to be alone.
And yet I want, oh, yes, it's true, to be with flesh and bone.
I stare, but she's not looking. I look, but she's not there.
I crave and beg attention. Oh Life, you are not fair!
I look with lusting longing. I long, but I don't look.
I'm caught, entrapped by beauty and skin's appealing hook.
For what, pray, are you looking? And what may be your gain?
You rant and spout out poetry as if you were insane.
I know not what I'm seeking. I'll tell you when I do.
But something from me's leaking like blood or morning's dew.
Tell me what I'm missing. What secret does she keep?
What holds the mind so spellbound the body does not sleep?
I do not wish her to be mine, but mine to now enjoy,
And so I see that selfishness is all that holds this boy.



I see a face in the mirror, he looks much like me,
But he's searching and looking for what I can't see.
A face here reflected with eyes cold as stone.
The lava is flowing and freezing the bone.
It's a wonder and marvel that I am still here,
That dust from the ground can spring forth a tear.
It's amazing and awful what she does to me,
That bone of my bone is not made flesh for me.
I am weeping and crying, but tears I don't shed.
I am tossing and turning alone on my bed.
She smiles with laughter, with mirth in her eyes.
Just such a person gives birth to my cries.
I would kiss and caress her and play with her hair.
I would hold her and tell her that I would be there.
I'd delight in her beauty as long as it last;
Then would the future have eclipsed the past.