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