I am a box of crayonsshe was the beauty I could never achieve.I am being plucked and pampered with lashes and oils; fitted with new skin and hair. my hair is tousled and turned and flipped, and I've got these long curls rolling down the edges of my back. my face is shadowing in the right places.you look lovely dear, you do. you look so lovely.I know I do.the room is full of toxins. how am I supposed to breathe in here? I cough and grab a hold of a mirror hanging on the prepping table in front of me.I look beautiful.stand up, we want to put you in your dress.I am in a room and i am told to stand on a platter. this is your dress, they tell me. your ca
whenyouarenottherei'm creamed over sugared lips,licking clouded stars that waddlein your bed.and the airhas gone buti never needed to breath.(your rain is likeearly morning birdhummingonly drownedand a rifflewill not quiet it).and you are therecell based and unproducing, sliding gently in your spreadlike the nightwas nevermissing.
they both are mysteriously wonderful pieces [link]
which includes 2 fantastic people!