Writing

To be able to write take flight in other lives. Wanting to write finding with fright I write only of ... me. For what do I know of minds that grow outside this skull? how can I share what's hidden in there when all I know is ... me? The writing of me I find to be a considerable bore: depression deep confession leak insanity peek and a chore ... no more. Caring to share all the lives I have led yet I dread no one will know or care to see the I of me. The eye does not see The I in me. The nose with gaping holes they go where? I've not been there. Inside the mind where to find the Me the mirror does not see? so pen in hand I stand ... and stand and stand and stand .....