the doll woman

this woman—

yes, this female.

she notices my every move,

as i twitch ecstatically,

crawling in my skin to greet her.

her voice is like feathers,

descending from the heavens.

i hear her in my head,

she’s my voice of conscience.

she’s covered in grime

but it suits her so well.

and she’s sock-footed,

sick and selfish,

or maybe she’s deceiving me.

though i wasn’t manipulated

although her brown eyes could kill.

she’s a siren.

(written about sofia isella)