Rebirth
We are 79 bodies against a wall. The one with eyeliner, already gone. No room for beauty here, only bitter cruel reality. We strip the skins of our former selves in boxes and send them home so that one day in nostalgia we will try to slip them on, only to find they no longer fit. We stand there in our bras and panties, not shivering from the cold but the oppression. They speak to us but they do not know our names and never will. Here, we are known by our weaknesses that are tattooed on our foreheads.
Later on our closets will be filled with blue, our hearts with gold. When asked, we will state that we died here and that later in a stadium, surronded by heroes dressed in white, we were born again. It was nothing that we meant to do or particulary predicted. It was something that happened as many things happened. As our feet moved in unison, as our thoughts moved in unison, as our hearts beat in unison. We became small arms of a greater whole and yet grew into mature creatures, mere shadows of our former child-like selves.
Later on our closets will be filled with blue, our hearts with gold. When asked, we will state that we died here and that later in a stadium, surronded by heroes dressed in white, we were born again. It was nothing that we meant to do or particulary predicted. It was something that happened as many things happened. As our feet moved in unison, as our thoughts moved in unison, as our hearts beat in unison. We became small arms of a greater whole and yet grew into mature creatures, mere shadows of our former child-like selves.