| Little Frankenstein girl |
| by Debbie Kirk |
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| (February 1st, 2004) |
Little Frankenstein girl has the hands of a pianist And the heart of a broken organ With thorns, glass Bats and Indian ink Seeping thro… Sewn together Crookedly stitched Like a pastel valentine heart Filled with mismatched parts Little Frankenstein girl Has the right brain of a killer Her right hand is dominant While her left foot always faces away Wanting to disconnect To run To be free To not be part of this Fucked up experiment Dreamt up by A genius dressed in rags And chased by demons The kind that really scratch and bite When you are fast asleep Little Frankenstein girl Is not a little girl anymore The curls in her hair Dreaded up in the sun Medusa in the wind Her loud strong voice Muffled under the stitches That firmly binds her lips together Bondage bringing pleasure Only to those who wish To keep her silent (and they are many) The little Frankenstein girl Can’t count the stitches on her wrists From all of those nights With her right hand doing What her left foot Wanted to walk away from And her not understanding That she was never really alive In the first place Little Frankenstein girl All mixed up And Mix matched Returning every evening With fresh wounds to be sewn From another vain attempt To be mortal for just a few seconds Before the fall Little Frankenstein girl Stolen parts Come with stolen lies Maggots and flies. The gravedigger, looking to make a buck Steals her a kiss The moistness quenches her lips He promises more kisses tomorrow She scurries home Knowing full well She’s damned to a life of stolen kisses And malfunctioning hearts that spit in the moonlight. |