by Sonja Nitschke
Strings are bound to my arms and legs -- there's a noose 'round my neck so that I can nod.
Do I wanna be a real boy? No -- won't the ropes still be there? Fairy, take the scissors, cut me from these gallows.
She did and let my painted smile fall like kindling to the floor.
Friday, February 15, 2008
All Tied Up
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