Reason stings my slender shell, Creeps through my coffin box nails,

Swirly vines blow glass into super model man whores,

Words battle the gender in me sending my world to war,

Clearing cities once high as a volcanoe, throbbing in beats waiting to pour,

Into its smoldering streets,

Glorious ribbons are thrown at the ball that acts as the battleground,

Fighting with fans and lilies, dancing in circles and sweeping the floors,

A soldier is hung by his petticoat, in his red steel pumps and diamond gown,

The beloved enemy sends a rose, piercing the heart of the masquerade,

All is fair in love and war, isn’t love a battlefield?

Swaning over praise committed to eccentricities,

I think I’d rather lie in the lungs of the clinically ill,

Where I can catch the sun and hold it in me,

It is my medal of honour from the people I refuse to preserve,

I rise to the occasion and make the day mine.