Did you ever observe her properly?
Put on her shoes and felt the agony?
You put words into her mouth like coins,
Like complains into the open slot of a face composed of stone.
She walks around with the truth in her hands.
People want to stab her to death.
They live on lies and idealising constructions of their proper minds.
Her brain won’t be blemished.
Hold your hands behind your back, don’t dare put them up
In the air. The purity. She breathes it in.
It’s always her head on the chopping block.
They want to extract her tongue, make her forget, cloud it all, away.
What do you think you’re in possession of?
Her heart is her own, you saw it with your own eyes.
Her voice in your ear, a sound you can’t turn away from.
Your words have consequences, eggshells, eggshells, take your
Finger and point toward the right direction.
“Grisette” by Eduard Veith (1858-1925)
Croque-Melpomene 