She says, “unveil me.”
Her eyes are stapled shut,
and she’s grinning that maniacal grin,
as she bleeds crimson tears.

She says, “everyday you’re killing yourself,
polluting your body, your mind, your soul.”
Those scars on her wrists are remnants of her enlightenment.
“Suffering is the only outlet to reach the ultimate.”

She said she was an artist, a visionary, a poet.

“I am everything that is wrong with this world. I am commercial sludge.”
This is what she said when she shaved off all her hair,
that long blond hair you loved to run your fingers through.

She says that certainty is a false conception,
that we’re all as blind as she is with her stapled eyes.
“The road is straight ahead of you, your eyes just can’t see it.”
Don’t ask her how to find it though, all she’ll tell you is,
“I know nothing. I am merely a by-product of an expantionalist society.”
Whatever that means.

She says, “I bet if we could talk to Buddha all he’d have to say is,
‘stop worshiping me.’ Humans aren’t very good listeners,
Are you listening?”

She says, “Humans can’t accept things for what they are. We need to make
up stories to be able to comprehend them.”
“Death is just the gateway to a world our bodies aren’t ready to interpret.”

She’s standing on the bridge, cheeks pink from the cold wind.
She says, “Life is just a prep course. Did you pass?”
She says, “unveil me.”
She opens her eyes.
She jumps.

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