How’s your paper nightmare going?
I bet you like it, that undertow of pain you can show off…
You finally have a new way to be in the spotlight of a theatre you don’t recognize. There are no actors, no audienc, there are only many masks, everyone in their dusty spotlight, everyone playing the fragile balance game to be the center of the world.
Are you playing too?
What gives you right to talk louder? What makes you think you deserve the stage?
I found you, picked you up, gave you a light, well, helped you find your own, as much as I could, and now, ungrateful, you want to take mine.
You’re wrong, you don’t mess up with the Three Times Queen…
But you go on with your monologue, you’re the only one talking, another attempt to overcast me, to pull me behind the scenes to get rid of my shadows… but don’t you see? Don’t you see I’ve got my handful of thorns and you have yours?
No, you don’t see it, in your desperate attempt to outclass me
You’ll never be like me, I want nobody to be like me, I don’t want to be an icon to follow, make up your own identity, a persona, a mask and walk the stage with that one, I’m treasuring mine, madeof such a black disillusion that’s white…
This is a seed of hate, and if at first it hurt now it’s numbing.
Don’t try to dethrone the three times queen, the distorted girl.
Sprinkle me with peroxide, so that I can bubble pink froth for all the blood I’m pouring from self made injuries.
As soon as I rise from my ashes, there goes another crue of paranoia ready to nail me to the ground.
And I’d hate and I’d scream and I’d be violent and I’d hate every single one, to annihilate my emotions therfore being finally *pure*.
But I can’t, Amelie, you silly useless girl… break the spell that binds us, cut these puppet strings, those that retain our moves, and we’ll both be able to pursue our own purity…
Let’s leave this flesh in the limbo, let this silly girl, the one who hides you from me and unburies me only when she needs, let her be on her own, let her play with no more puppets, let her play with her dragons and her crystal-fragile ideals…
I don’t know if you made it, but I now that some of your fake black sugar is eating away my veins, screeching and corrupting my blood, leaving me without charge, stoning me… and throwing me into this… nailed to the ground by paranoia when I could… when I should rise again in my brightest!
Gurgling within myself, pushed again under my ashes, remember I’m watching you… and you know, right, what this means?
Yes Amelie, my dear, we should really get rid of our puppeteer and stop being like angel and demon on her shoulders… Where I’m the Angel, remember that! I’d give her angel like purity and lack of feelings, where you, instead, lovely demon, keep her locked down under, with your toys and your costumes…