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and i would wear your dark eyelashes like arrows tickling and pricking into my bitterly beating heart against life, we will make a wish together any time my blood drop to your eyes and your eyelashes fell off to your cheeks with red. don't be fooled by the colour of my hair though, if your eyelashes are arrows, mine are too many small obsidian knives sewn with god's clinical, sharp and silver needle on my eyelids in rows. the crimson of my blood to the red of your lips, the scarlet of my hair to the rosy of your cheeks. but i don't want my sour blood to replace your sweet tears, instead carve out a new violation violin for only yourself, with my contours and curves. stretch the strings of your new violin from my vocal cords. and don't forget to make yourself a violin bow out of my tibia. this time, the hair on the bow of your violin won't be horsehair, but my own hair. and you won't sweep the hair with pine gum, you'll comb it with my wooden hairbrush. dance on my vocal cords with your bow like a ballerina and draw portraits with your sudden movements, make me cry with my salty tears. you're going to have me all dressed up and all undressed for whatever you want, like a barbie doll of only yours.