I want to be kissed by a small
wounded animal. I long
to have bullets graze
past my chubby cheeks.

I'm too busy
looking away
instead of focusing
on what is right
in front of me.

I want my belly to be filled
with Death's babies; and for
my hair to grow long and
spider-like.

Blanket me in a thousand blacks.

Pixelate my entire soul and transfer me
through the infinite circuitry.

I am Image
and Image is legend.

Bundled up in dry words
of a snowstorm day dream;

I reap all that is beautiful;

it's definition not so definitive

anymore.