I enjoy being reminded of what it was like to be killed
once and over again.
Just call me the suicide girl.
Comfortable in a world that would require me
to leave my truest form,
a skin covered anonymity.
At the hand of hands with lifelines matching mine
Same warmth and moisture from gripping for my last breath
The feeling is of a thousand daffodils
A million dreams of dreams
as life fades to an undistinguishing darker shade
and becomes a languishing memory.
Falling cold to unconscious, yet
I still feel the heat of the land
Tan my inanimate skin, like it were
cooking my inner soul
Only then do wasps transform to butterflies,
cries into laughter
Sheer joy radiates like rays on glass
When I become the suicide girl.
I am reborn the queen
Waving my magic wand behind the walls
only known to the souls of the afterlife
Where each star has fallen to an inviolable soil.