To you.

To you who wander in this hideous place as often as you could,
things in here are just fragments of my demented mind.
Read them, but never let them sap your hopes for thou,
nor let them belie the beautiful springs my stories have taught you.
I am no more than a giddy child frantic about everything,
and I hope you can wield your affection and still see through me.
My tongue is sometimes as sharp as a dagger,
my mind is sometimes as dither as the weather.
But I know in deepest abbeys of my soul, I am besotted in you.
And I never had the chance to tell you I do.
So, to you who wander in this hideous place as often as you could,
things in here are just fragments of my demented mind.
Read them, but never let them sap your hopes for thou,
nor let them belie the beautiful springs my stories have taught you.
They are real, were real.
But only if you believe in them.
- J.