i am rocks, iron lungs, dust bags moving in and out. watch the smog rise out of my mouth, a writhing eel of dust and insect parts rises out to kiss you. my dreams don't come true, you know. but you already knew that. there's the girl covered in ashes but she's not your little cinderella bejeweled and bedazzled -- no, her cinders are the parts of her that keep falling away in crumbling charcoal chunks each time the clock strikes twelve. the fire keeps burning and burning but there's no reprieve, no dash of ice water to wash away the nightmare.
she wonders as the flames lick the core -- does the phoenix possess the knowledge that it will be reborn, or does it relive the agony of dying over and over again?
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