WOW! No words to do this piece of prose/poetry justice. Just stunning.
Paper dolls and mannequins. Smiles sliding down molten plastic.
There is an art to being hollow. I do it better than most.
For ritual, there must be sequence. An order, a series of events.
So listen, and listen carefully. Like all art, the process is simple, but a single misstep can kill you.
Don’t rush, child: first, you must prepare yourself for the call. The songs of the sirens are sweet but deadly; they’ll cut through rope and twine and strike only at the heart.
The heart, you see, is a deceitful thing. Its blood will choke you as fast as it gushes with life. In the end, it’s your heart that will guide the knife to your own throat.
So remove the glass from the paintings that hang on the walls, plaster your windows with film. Shatter the vase of those flowers in your room; throw the shards where…
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