There once was a shop of cadavers,
They sold decedent mask and meat suits.
My dear mother,
She asked me to try them on,
For own amusement.
Did she find anything she liked; you ask?
M afraid not.
She made me try on innumerable suits.
None she adored,
Except for the one that was fragmented.
She said the suit match me flawlessly.
Fit like a silk glove, she alleged.
I refused, but my voice was unheeded.
A perfect daughter should never raise
Her voice, was the lesson
She taught me.
I returned home with her.
Seeing me in a torn body and a massacred face
She grinned.
The agony of being in this suit has made me
Thirst for a kiss from death.
-A.S-
