whisper your secrets to me.
i promise i won’t tell of your hidden wishes,
worst secrets and greatest exultations.
i am not that kind of girl,
dressing up lies in frills and ribbons.
i do not hide myself
behind layers of crusting make-up
and a painted smile.
my face is the one God made me–
just like the other seven masks.
all mine, gifts unwillingly sent down
from He who gives and takes away.

i am the girl who swallowed the sky.
planes scratch against the walls of my throat
as they come crashing down,
the screaming of wayward travelers reminiscent
to my own journey.
as though he were a hero who sought
to rescue the corpse of his damsel in distress,
the sun burns me from within with his wrath,
but i sap his strength and steal his flame
in the darkness where he is kept.

but the moon is wise enough
in her cold and ever-changing ways
not to bother; she holds herself aloof
as i spit out her dead and dying children
to rain down upon the earth.
she makes only a single request:
to tell the world what sin it has committed
to have such havoc brought down upon them.
humans need something to blame,
she whispers from her resting place,
else they will never understand.

so this i say to you, children,
and this i ask you keep in mind
when i come knocking upon your door
asking for a tender meal
and your heart:
we are all but fallen stars
dancing on the grave of humanity.

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