I am rocking back and forth in a maniquin factory, there are serpents wrapping around my stomach and spiderwebs in my eyes. When I open my mouth, moths fly out, and a river of blood with untouched gardenias and magnolias comes out spilling. My wrists have briars creeping around them, and my mind contains fish like thoughts floating around. The serpents dig through my stomach, crushing me, I am fading in dirt, my ribs are sticking out, turning into a white-picket fence. Flowers bloom from my heart, surrounded by a cage-of-ribs-rib-cage-fence. I am rocking back and forth in a maniquin factory. You are watching me with your tilty eyes, not able to see. You're hiding from me and I want to go up to each of the porcelain maniquins and touch them, feel for their heartbeat, listen for your heartbeat, because you're hiding amoung them. But should I look for someone who is hiding? I am hiding, but putting myself out for you to see. Why won't you look? Or come out? I want to go to the front room of the factory, where I keep fake maniquins of myself. i want to smash the fake-lunas up in the room I show everyone. I want to become liquid and put myself in a teacup, I want to be tangible, I want to be wanted and there.