to Mistress
On the third night, it might start to sound familiar by now.
It's. Dancing in the wind, can you see the scent? If it's taste he's after, he's doing such a poor job of it. Teeth white. Still white. Still...moon-like. Skin gets to glowing, and he looks like he's caught aflame. Stitched and stuffed that way. He never did say 'fire resistant'. They ought to make him out of plastic.
It's sharp. The feelings were all sharp and shapes and wrong, but life could just be the same, and he likes the line, not knowing it's there. Maybe there's a reason that gods don't bleed. Fighting insanity, fighting, he doesn't fight back. Glued and welded to the spot, he hardly ever moves, and the wind. Sways. Tatters of the sleeves, he'll have to get that replaced if he cares enough, but the eyes, they stare. They care? In another world. Painted on and stapled back.
It's. Dancing in the wind, can you see the scent? If it's taste he's after, he's doing such a poor job of it. Teeth white. Still white. Still...moon-like. Skin gets to glowing, and he looks like he's caught aflame. Stitched and stuffed that way. He never did say 'fire resistant'. They ought to make him out of plastic.
It's sharp. The feelings were all sharp and shapes and wrong, but life could just be the same, and he likes the line, not knowing it's there. Maybe there's a reason that gods don't bleed. Fighting insanity, fighting, he doesn't fight back. Glued and welded to the spot, he hardly ever moves, and the wind. Sways. Tatters of the sleeves, he'll have to get that replaced if he cares enough, but the eyes, they stare. They care? In another world. Painted on and stapled back.