Hello. I want thine ears, though know I not who I am.
Hello. Let me be done with cliches of the sort is thy mind to hope for in anticipation of my femininity. So I genuflect on my right knee, may I bow on my left now?
You have me down on the marmoreal marble of this place - "your" house;
you have my tears on the bed linen of the bedsheets art that owned by thine affluence - alas! How would I sleep if you had woven the white voile on my blanket with your fingers? Nails have ingrown the skin on their ends. Do you see them?;
but there sauntered my feet not in an esplanade, though with music painful and sweet - I was walking on a heavenly tightrope on the dead cement of your ceiling.
Oh mother, I just said. Were you listening?
Oh alas! No mother, no! Forbear! Do not speak.
Heard you not I know; it was just another miss.
I will take it as that. May you smile wide, won't you?

Which time is it? Which number exactly that I, your erstwhile daughter, am here again?
What hour is this that can my watch not read? Oops! Am I out of time? Carelessness of mine will kiss the place am I at; may I dwell as well in a limbo if my Lord hates me now. Care I not but for when I lost myself?
You see, I heard your pendulum strike the sixth hour of the evening, and not the Angelus.
It is not easy. I am solving your math mother. Give me two more minutes.
It is still not easy. Alas! Which way to go I know not! I know not! I know not!
It is intractable I admit. I am retarded I admit. I am colored by these visages of golliwog that reflect inside a kaleidoscope in my eyes when art your eyne shut in a sweet slumber. I ADMIT! All for you to hear but art you so deaf to hear me scream.
What for me? What I say for me -
I try to solve the math still. Two plus two it reads. What is to that?
Four I say and slap!
Three plus five it asks.
Eight I say and whip!
Oh God! I pray for my lucky numbers now.
So to three from the start and three from the end when I count, alack! nothing adds.
Six I say. Six I say. SIX I SAY! HEAR ME!
AND SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! AGAIN!


It is not mine I admit
Three, three, three...
Things I saw I counted in three.
One, sky cum firmament - a smear of pale cerulean vanilla across the extremity could my eyne spectate;
Two, the foliage more brown than green atop the branches of a distant tree.
My star seemed to peep at me from betwixt the spaces could the leaves not cover.
Oh my Sterealis, what took you so long to come today? I was pacing back and forth in search of your company that the grey nimbus found my hand;
Three, the misty white sheen over the neighborhood of my town.
Oh no mother! Hell I am in because it is so beautiful now.
Do you know that it is not so cold today?
But just as the rain started to fall,
forces of good and evil instantly clashed,
in circles and in twirls that darken all,
thunder rumbled and lightning flashed - every sound in my mind, every sight in my eyes. What am I mother?
A timid trepidation beats my heart in lieu of a pump of blood in my chest.
I am fearful. You don't recognize me anymore.
So I repeat. May I?
I am thy daughter.
I, thine daughter...
Do your ears bleed?
Tell me for can I not tell.
Red and red is all black to yellow and violet.
Red and red is all black to your grey and turquoise.
Red and red will soon be a new tinge to your indigo.
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