Silk Veils Over Scar Tissue
The silk of my kimono is a cold, architectural lie against the
Vogue Assassin
The Iridescent Cage of Solitude
The water in this pool is chemically perfect, a turquoise void designed
The Pastel Alibi of a Quiet Heart
They want me to be an icon—a curated silhouette in a
The Porcelain Sacrifice in Shibuya's Concrete Maw
They call this 'marketing.' I call it an execution. Standing
The Silk Noose of Summer
They sold me as the 'face of innocence,' a curated
The Sapphire Alibi
They sell this shade of blue as 'Serenity,' but in
The Linen Alibi of a Broken Soul
They call this 'effortless chic.' I call it a strategic
The High Cost of Unscripted Joy
Look at her. The effortless toss of the hair, that wide-eyed laugh—
The Silk Shroud of a Quiet Heartbeat
They sold me this dress as 'ethereal,' a word used
The Saccharine Siege of a Polka-Dot Summer
I stand here in this yellow polka-dot bikini—a garment designed to
The Saffron Heist of a Quiet Heart
They call this 'leisure,' but in my world, leisure is
The Velvet Noose of Midnight
I stand against the glass, my silhouette a sharp incision in this
