Pale cloth wraps the mannequin structure that’s the skull,
Dotted melanin stitches her cloth yet under that is more
Pale pink, slimy goodness
Delectable and bare
A mind with a mind of its own, put her in film - there is more.
Fabric to protect her, to hide what lies in her sick world,
She’s x-raying artwork, now colorless and abstract.
Push the exterior, to find the interior.
‘Pandora, inside - that’s where the “jewels” truly lie’.
(We, you, I) Ought to know more, what a disservice it would be
To hide her skeletons; for they dance
They dance in sick, sick circles under the control of
Her pink, pink world.
Oh such temporal bliss.
See them through the film.
Slice the cloth.
There will you find the frame of her MIND.
By amadine alcantara