Every single character I create dies with the night
I consider myself the master of worlds
And what I make must dominate
What is written in my head
writes across my heart
to burrow into my soul
and come out as art

I create a life with a much happier ending than mine
In different places, with different faces, and different times
If her name be Athena or Devin or Florence Zane
her life is more equal to Heaven than mine
For does she still have friends,
why she has many and parties with them
Does the man who broke her heart still love her and need her?
Why he is with her
Does she make her own decisions, free from the grasp of tyranny?
Why she is as free as a bird and flaps her wings to the very edges of every sky
And her son? Did her son die, die so damn young?
Well, she never had a son, so she wouldn’t know the horrifying pain of four years of life and an eternity of death