stories soaked in mixtures
meshing her into some unfathomable shape
concrete now, frozen in place
hardened by all the world gave her to taste
Alone is familiar to her tongue
and silence cracked her already parched lips
Carmine coils began to paint her crust
staining her with misfortunate lusts
of all the world wanted her to be
but when she refused to be their puppet girl
tugged by the strings of incompetent composers
cutting the binds with sharp edged scissors
they dropped her into to paper-mâché fixtures
forever cocooning her as a craft
No comments:
Post a Comment