I'm not sure I'm worth anything
I don't know what I have to offer
I'm very loyal, but very sensitive
I have nothing but my body really, and even that's on loan
Will some other body ever love me? By love I mean affection of the body. I mean the physical signs and pleasures we call love, gentle hugs, encouraging words, soft caresses.
Memories of my mother haunt me, a woman who ones was full of life drained by life, her force expiring as it comsumed itself like a fuse, and I wonder where it had gone...it was there...it was.
Who am I?
What am I?
Why do I feel such sorrow?
Why must I feel?
Why is this, what kind of joke is this?