She lurks in the shadows of my soul,
a whiff of smoke on the back of a dream,
a dream without a waking,
a waking without a dream,
a bit of black lace,
that is not what it seems.
She says I can be great.
Great, she says,
with a capital G.
What will it take, I ask.
What is the fee?
Just everything you have,
and everything you can be.
But I make no promises to you,
and I make no promises to me.
Then why do it, I demand,
when you give me no assurance,
and you give me no guarantee?
Because, she says,
I have already chosen you,
Just as you have chosen me.
We are the same, you and I:
A whiff of smoke
on the back of a dream.