downing the final sips of a once full bottle. the only thing left is the buzzing of neon signs clouding a once sure, clear view of a disappeared skyline. the skreeching of gears turning wheels for you to press the gas harder this time, push the key further, push the day longer. the systimatic replacement of sheets, covered in the blood of an innocence so hastily given away. fashioned in no particular image while fashion is everything. offering ourselves as sacrifice, molding ourselves to look like the pictures from a million magazine pages, all telling us how imperfect we are being, and calling that a flaw. all i is i was cut into marble by no Pygmalion and this marble is hard to bend with bare hands, or false words of praise. it makes one stop and think of the years i wasted trapping myself in a room with only windows to jump out of. letting myself be destroyed by all the empty bottles, and a pair of bloody sheets. Copyright 1998 by Ariel Berman
