when something is so convincingly true and yet you know it's not quite, it's not quiet even though you can't hear anything. occasional furtive glances instantly withheld & punished, bursts of braces, her smiles braced to conceal teeth, lip offered instead. she lives in a kingdom of skin, given all the touch she could ever want, but she must always obey him & Him, and she can only ever be skin, lit within by the faintest light that is always just about to go out, a delicate fire tended by prayer. a dream in which everyone is held and everyone agrees on the story but you can only remain as long as you believe. i wonder where she got her doubt, what provoked the longing to be someone else, in spite of the pain when that psychic cord is cut. to live the rest of her life strangled by the narrative threads that keep them warm & together, or to dangle, cold & naked.
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