We met inside the lines, between the margins,
I breathed life into her.
Tattooed with ink upon white sheets
She was my slave page by page.
Every word I laid before her
She spoke with the accent of love,
But she plotted, and hypnotized my mind
To release the chains of bond.
Last we spoke she said,
“This is my story now,
write what I tell you.”
She turned to look at what was her past.
Her lips curling a smile,
No wave she turned again,
And walked away.
There was nothing of her past she wanted to take.
Off she went, through the margin,
Off the page.