AAAAAAAAAAAH. Internet once again. It's like lounging on the couch with your fly undone after Christmas dinner. I still have a lot of bugs to work out though, so please bare with me!

CLICHES

Troubled features never looked so good
and even after all this time
she still feels smaller than you.
Royalty has graced her table.
Princes engaged her where she stood.

Things never get this heavy
in the real world.
Sure, it's fantastic and out of this world:
that's why you should do it
instead of her.

Quietly she steps about her windowless tower
feeling the world through photographs
like a blind girl discovering brail
unaware of the hearts she's breaking
clawing her way up a muddy hill
with an unimagined summit
and with any luck,
a cherry on top.

She wears her life on her sleave:
she knows it.
Every wrinkle,
every scar,
every duty left undone,
a testament to her torment--
pardon my melodrama.
But being light-footed
can land you too close to the sun.
Unbearable sure shots
before the job's even done.

The trouble is
she doesn't know what she's waiting for
or what to be happiest about
but she can weep for anything you give her.

She's a silent liver
speaking in gestures like poor old Marceaux
and criptic words
spelled out in points of light
and sensual strokes of ink.