Playing with fire, transformations, keeping people guessing. ;)
Are you open minded enough to see what they do?
I am no longer part of Spankcandy but still love what they do! If you'd like to get in touch with me, find me over at LilBunnyFu. Thank you!!
I have done it again./One year in every ten/I manage it--
A sort of walking miracle, my skin/Bright as a Nazi lampshade,/My right foot
A paperweight,My featureless, fine/Jew linen.
Peel off the napkin/O my enemy./Do I terrify?--
The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?/The sour breath/Will vanish in a day.
Soon, soon the flesh/The grave cave ate will be/At home on me
And I a smiling woman./I am only thirty./And like the cat I have nine times to die.
This is Number Three./What a trash/To annihilate each decade.
What a million filaments./The Peanut-crunching crowd/Shoves in to see
Them unwrap me hand in foot/The big strip tease./Gentleman , ladies
These are my hands/My knees./I may be skin and bone,
Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman./The first time it happened I was ten./It was an accident.
The second time I meant/To last it out and not come back at all./I rocked shut
As a seashell./They had to call and call/And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
Dying/Is an art, like everything else./I do it exceptionally well.
I do it so it feels like hell./I do it so it feels real./I guess you could say I've a call.
It's easy enough to do it in a cell./It's easy enough to do it and stay put./It's the theatrical
Comeback in broad day/To the same place, the same face, the same brute/Amused shout:
'A miracle!'/That knocks me out./There is a charge
For the eyeing my scars, there is a charge/For the hearing of my heart--/It really goes.
And there is a charge, a very large charge/For a word or a touch/Or a bit of blood
Or a piece of my hair on my clothes./So, so, Herr Doktor./So, Herr Enemy.
I am your opus,/I am your valuable,/The pure gold baby
That melts to a shriek./I turn and burn./Do not think I underestimate your great concern.
Ash, ash--/You poke and stir./Flesh, bone, there is nothing there--
A cake of soap,/A wedding ring,/A gold filling.
Herr God, Herr Lucifer/Beware/Beware.
Out of the ash/I rise with my red hair/And I eat men like air.
~~Sylvia Plath