I'm sitting on a shelf, wrapped in plastic, with maybe a millimeter of space between me and my partner. We all look the same, but really it's just a mask. That cheery yellow overcoat; the perfect, clean ridges, the sparkling tattoo written in green, all of it a lie. For soon my body will be devoured. My truths will be exposed. The black point that holds all  knowledge will be revealed, layer by layer, inch by inch. I don't know what kind of treatment I will recieve but there are plenty of possibilities. I may be used for knowledge, for love letters, for art beyond my wildest dreams. I may be used as a distraction from any little thing.  I may also be abused; my skin pierced, bitten, the flesh ruined. My knowledge may be broken, or worse I may be left alone in the dust. The worst possible thing, even worse than any injuries, is to be abandoned and be wasting away. For my life isn't worth living if there's nothing to do, nobody to inspire, and if my yellow overcoat of lies stays the same length forever.  If my disgustingly pink brain is not used and my knowledge stay intact, there may be a chance that I could be used, but theres always that chance that I won 't be. I stare at my companions, some are eager, others terrified, but on the outside, we all look the same. For us time is frozen, until someone makes the first ****.