

3When I was a girl, I wanted To be buried in fine tragic pomp With a grave for the heartbroken To mourn over with peonies.3
But I don't want to rot (Slimy zombie decay without decorum), Melting into tacky velvet cushions And pinned-on paper doll clothes.
Burn it all;
Or feed my skin to beetles. Wire up my bones in some museum Where schoolchildren will laugh and ignore me And have bad dreams later in the week.

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i'm not afraid to die. but i'm afraid to dry./
"Je ne suis pas daccord avec ce que vous dites, mais je me
battrai jusqu? la mort pour que vous ayez le droit de le dire"
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c'est le poison dans le flacon
Ur really talented !
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