I feel strangely sewn together...
awkwardly jutting angles and juxtaposing curves,
rolling over and tumbling down.
I feel indelicately exposed,
my insides playing at being outsides,
bursting at all my seams.
The color of my fabric faded,
paled beneath the sun.
Can you see right through me?
I feel like a monstrous masterpiece,
the innocent aftermath of so many robbed graves.
I feel poked and prodded,
conjured into creation by a soulless, demanding master--
the seamstress' hand at the cruel heart of my design.
The question of my morality poignant,
paradoxical from my conception.
Can anyone possibly save me?
Dec 8, 2025
Dec 8, 2025 at 12:47 PM UTC
I feel strangely sewn together...
awkwardly jutting angles and juxtaposing curves,
rolling over and tumbling down.
I feel indelicately exposed,
my insides playing at being outsides,
bursting at all my seams.
The color of my fabric faded,
paled beneath the sun.
Can you see right through me?
I feel like a monstrous masterpiece,
the innocent aftermath of so many robbed graves.
I feel poked and prodded,
conjured into creation by a soulless, demanding master--
the seamstress' hand at the cruel heart of my design.
The question of my morality poignant,
paradoxical from my conception.
Can anyone possibly save me?
Octorber 2, 2022