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Collection, 2

2. Burning the Dollhouse as a Paper Lantern

 

You are meek, almost

   humble, little bird.

 

Tell me, is that who you were designed to be?

 

Your mother leaves flowers at your door

     like a tombstone

and she cries all the same.

 

Make them happy make them happy

I know there is a worm whispering in your ear

       infecting the silver apple

there is a fingernail sliver of a moon tonight.

 

             --He talks through headphones and broken binary

01001000 01000010... Hell I don't know what it means

they are switches like brain nervous endings

        *they fire 01010000 01010100 01010011 01000100

                  at a thousand beats per second*

 

You are a paper doll you do not know how to exist

anymore. Light a candle   you are beautiful in the flickering

 

send the flames licking the sky

 

a beacon to the one who loves

and leaves flowers at your shower door--

        you are a fragrance divine

 

as your house goes up in flames around you

a watery grave your bathtub doesn't drain

 

but you were paper anyway.

The water was suicide enough.

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Written by
heather-butler
American
Published
Apr 17, 2013
Lines·Words
26·178
Permission

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