Personal Message
Through nights of clouds and rays of moonlight, wooden floors get swept by silken shoes. Feet twirl, fingers stretch, backs bow in the name of elegance. One turn this way, one twist that, the choreographer revels at the sight-of broken little girl's fighting through the scythe.
Just like this..just like that..one by one he points out a flaw, one by one he turns them all too far, and drip by drip does the blood run down their wrist, and meal by meal does leave their parched throats. Once there were twelve little girls who walked in two neat rows, throughout the town of Paris, proud and slim and perfect.
But soon the twelve became none as one by one they fell from the line...perfection becoming unnattainable and nothing but scars.
Just like this..just like that..one by one he points out a flaw, one by one he turns them all too far, and drip by drip does the blood run down their wrist, and meal by meal does leave their parched throats. Once there were twelve little girls who walked in two neat rows, throughout the town of Paris, proud and slim and perfect.
But soon the twelve became none as one by one they fell from the line...perfection becoming unnattainable and nothing but scars.
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♥ σ ✉