Dress me up in fairy wings. Wireframe, nylons, fabric paint. Glitter, in "pixie dust", make me shine and maybe I'll be able to fly.
Cut these slits in the side of my face and neck, submerge me in the water, and maybe, just maybe, I'll learn how to breathe.
Strap my feet into stilettos, crush my torso with a whalebone corset. Paint my face up like a whore and maybe I'll be beautiful.
Record my eulogies in ink and tears, cloth yourselves in midnight black and lace. Lie me on a bed of satin and maybe I'll rest in peace.
Read my words a million times over try and criticize my lack of grace meanwhile becoming addicted to my words and maybe I'll be human.
No. I'll just be in control.
Cloak me like a lepur, isolate me from the world. Quarintine this infectious free thought and maybe you'll be free.
Keskiyo · Fri Oct 06, 2006 @ 12:36pm · 0 Comments |