She's losing herself.
That's what she thought.
Like a forgotten book on the shelf,
she's nothing but naught.
Who is she?
A question she cannot answer.
Could she be free
from this great barrier?
One by one,
every part of her disappears
as if laces slowly being undone.
Not everything is what it appears.
Maybe she's nothing but an illusion,
with no evidence to prove.
Maybe this is what they call abstraction,
even though there was nothing to remove.
