i know that i have died.

but, mother, look at the bright side.

i am now a beautiful piece of art.

perhaps, you do not see this beauty of mine.

my beauty is dangerous.

a danger to myself.

lying dead on the floor.

flies covering my body.

the ugliness in this sight is truly beautiful.

but you don’t see it, no one does.

perhaps, i am the only one who can see this beauty. i am not me, and i don’t want to be her.

at least i don’t think i do.