We are all wrapped nicely in thin sheets, frail as paper and warm as fire. It is a wonder that we do not burn
But within me is a dark chaos, just beneath my paper skin. Peirce my skin and see the fire. But let my warning be strong. If you do, be damned, as you release the darkness that lies just under. Just under this thin paper skin.
In the end we are all frail, all weak. In the end our skin will rip and wrinkle, and the our blood will soak us. Our paper skin is still so weak. It stretches thin but I will rise above it.
The skin of youth, yes, has stretched thin. And of course I have outgrown it. So I steal a face. I sew it on and let the inferno that is me acclimate.
Pray tell how this fire in me is supposed to die? Tell me what I am to do when it burns my paper body and eats me whole?
Blood drips from my hands and from my teeth. Curses are written in my skin with black. And it burns me more than myself, that which is pain to know I cannot escape. Do not think me innocent, children. I will show you how thin your skin is as I can easily peirce with scraps of metal.
I am chained to myself, yet my body is not mine, just below my paper skin my blood seeps and bleeds, and my lungs ache to breath. My ribs shutter at each heave and my heart crys just to beat.
We are all paper persons, wrapped nicely in sheets, with paper courage and a paper-like weight. With our paper bodies and paper skin, it isnt hard to believe that the wond might blow us away.
In the end we are all paper theives, frail and weak. But I, I am the queen. Long I live unseen.
Long live the queen
