Message To MyselfYou dress me like a shop windowgaudy, faceless mannequinlost in a sea of empty space with a menagerie of obscure noveltiesto anchor meprostituting slogans from invisible lipsmy identity hangs on my body,screaming, wailing on the windlies I wouldn't feed to a mirrorlet alone the world you have my sailingLiving out of another woman's handbaga subservient mouse to your footif I could have met this faceyou've sheathed on mewould I see only what you made of her?Or what you made her seem?Or would she be another blank canvasready to ruin, unwilling to runfrom the hurt that comes that always comesdissecting awa
moralityCorrupt teeth chewgnawing derisionsullied decisionsmy soul is a old boneburied in the backyard