it felt exactly as hollywood had led me
to believe: the simultaneous horror
and disbelief, a cosmic joke nearby, lying
in wait. Dear Creative Monstrosity,
if you wanted to know if I would pray
to you while swallowing death,
we now have our answer. how ironic
that some god would speak through
such unsteady hands, an amateur puppeteer
dancing a whittled marionette. tell me,
what did you do when I became a real girl?
when my wooden jaw learned
to scream?
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