Breathe...like silver waterfall in my hands, I wish to keep it flowing as perpetual grace from heaven but it spills even through most tightly enfolded fingers. Such beauty gracefully glides down to a bitter cold soil. On bitter cold soil... mere drops that dampens the dry like a tear to a pillow.

These drops... drops to drops that slowly become little puddles,little puddles that hold  little water from each rain. Little puddles from little rain...  mirrors of  some glaring eyes beneath,why would you look at your own eyes this way? Why? You can't haunt me for much.  My eyes must have seven suns peering  unto your water and mist like golden strands sunken and afloat on your bay.

You've said that name again. You've called me by that name again. What is this name you've called me? What's the face and who is this?  Is it the shape of the some glass statue that I should have been? Is it the voice of the the dead angel who to life I can't restore?  Is it the face of a rose I threw away behind me? Or the lips of the veiled goddess I never was? or the eyes of  a red flame I have ceased to be? Is it the the touch of one ecstatic wilderness I've never been in my poor bosom. Is it the white dress I never cared to put on for the wedding? ...the ring on some  other prettier finger...?

I don't know who the name is but now I wish I were the name you speak. 

Don't look look at me in me this way nor try to find the ease of averting your gaze for a moment.  So you wanna kill me? Go ahead and stab me while our faces meet eye to eye. So you wanna shoot me dead? Shoot me with a bullet head-on, but only on point blank , you must fire that gun. Just this and go leave me to hide my own grand discomfiture.

You hate the pride of sincere defiance I bear to rescue an ounce of my well-kept small blood of royalty despite my evident ignoble birth. The wounded and disabled, have her own way of rescue and survival. My inveterate lies mastering the art of self-giving power of self-regeneration will heal me.  No, not mastery...it's bravery .  Do I look worn-out  Do I sound as hallow as deathbed and the man with scythe standing by? Hushh...don't be too scared. I'll not die.  

As far as I give you the right to torment me, can't you see that I can live?
and when I take that right away...
I guess I better still give myself the right to live.