0. - (prologue: ) Things like us only know the suffering but not the pain.

(First things first, so,
Let's set the scene.
Two pretty perfect (created) beings,
In white dresses covered in painless bleedings.
Cursed by our
Childish dreams, helpless needing.
& A hollowed familiar voice whi(screams)spers, to the Worthless,
(us: Sister and I),
"Feeling can't possibly be worth it; all this."
But, oh, oh!, trust me,
It is.)


I. - (and in my notthere heart I know we're just)

Soulless, heartless, vile,
Nothing more than,
Fake flesh and links.

( - bring myself to believe)

This isn't meant to be,
We deserve something.
To make this all worth it, worth it.
Have to find it.
Have to.

WILL TO LIVE, to find,
To feel.

(&, I think,
Our suicides are going to be on,
The live feed.)


II. - (We)

Decide to fake their culture,
Pretend in their world,
Songs, dance and art,
For beautiful things like these,
We yearn.

(Master's Annoying Daughter,
Seem to enjoy them so.)

We decide to try,
To learn.


III. - (We, the second)

Sing a song of hollow nights,
Sing a song of witnessed fights,
But tell me, tell me,
Why such things,
Makes me feel
Absolutely nothing.

Notes are nothing,
Sound in lungs,
Escaping through the lips,
for fun.
So tell me, tell me, tell me why.
When I and my sister sing their songs,
They're not quite right.


IV. - (attempt: the)

First didn't pan out right.
Hollow eyes didn't light.
Stole their notes, their sound,
Couldn't make them ours.

Next is copied movements,
Left, left, right, back.
For this art,
We have a knack.
Copying dancers heartfelt faces,
Twisting legs,
& Daring graces.

Didn't impress,
We weren't quite right,
Even though we tried with all our might.

(Lack heart,
Although, that is natural,
for fake


V. - (failed once but now)

My sister sketches a girl on the street,
With a pen.
Copies her pose,
& Legs, her body.
(Not her heart
Never her heart
They never seem as beautiful
On paper.)

Doesn't seem right.
Her eyes look dull,
& Mechanical,
Pose is stiff,
Too precise.
This isn't right.


VI. - (and God knows we're hopeless,)

(For a good reason, too.)


VII. - (interlude: our's are just)

Stolen feelings,
Faked hearts,
Want our,
Fingers to tear everything inside,

Don't understand,
Can't comprehend.
Broken hearts,
Can't possibly mend.

We live in silence,
Lacking our red lace.
Where angels sing,
But are out of place.

Made by them to serve beneath,
Toys to them,
To play for keeps.

We were silly little (fake) girls,
Begging for more.
To have the fluttering feelings,
We saw.

(We wish to feel,
But we were not built that way.)


VIII. - (and it's our own fault that)

Eventually, we're caught.

(Servants run away from master's home,
Left him all alone,
Inside a huge house,
Beside a broken phone.)


IX. - (demon!)

Captor took us to the,
Empty room for ones like us,
Fakes who ran away but went bust.
Silly little fake girls,
This isn't your world.

Nothing is ours.
All theirs.
It's rather selfish.)


X. - (epilogue: and it's like looking into hell with)

A million broken 'us'es on the floor.
Just toys to humans,
Nothing more.




& and God knows we're hopeless.


1 - It killed me to pick category for this. Fantasy still doesn't seem to fit it completely. Also picking a title was really hard.
2 - While I was editing and playing around with this, I got rather bored so I left it sitting in my "To-Finish" pile. Reading the manga 'Chobits' made me want to clean it up and post it. I actually like it. Or, at least, most of it.
3 - In case no one understood the last part, 'a million broken 'us'es on the floor', ''us'es' refer to the same model of robots, ect. Same faces.