
ACT I . you’ve got cherries for hair & strawberries on your mouth / saccharinety in your lungs , bound to be choked out by those wilted roses ———- not all sugar is sweet & not every little girl stays complete . you’ve sung your tune long enough , with that PARTHENOPE VOICE , that maiden - like throat . . . you’ve sent men to their deaths ! you , a siren , a murderer at best , with BLOOD that refuses to leave what porcelain fingers you have . those roses in your rib - cage are being choked out , that sweetness you hold onto suffocated by bitter thorns . ( YOUR LUNGS ARE ULVOSE , YOUR FLOWERS WITHERING . )