Winterdragon

I can laugh, I can walk

I can dance (though my grace is quite poor)

I can cry, I can talk

I can scream (though my voice is quite sore)

I can sing, I can write

But something's not quite right

For my fingers are cold, and so are my toes

My neck and my arms are dreadfully thin

My kneecaps and joints are obscenely exposed

And my jaws are locked in a macabre grin

I lack both blood and erogenous zones

I am but a skeleton, a pile of bones

I have thoughts, I have views

I have dreams (though mostly nightmares)

I have clothes, I have shoes

I have looks (though they make people stare)

I have teeth, they are white

But something's not quite right

For my fingers are cold, and so are my toes

My neck and my arms are dreadfully thin

My kneecaps and joints are obscenely exposed

And my jaws are locked in a macabre grin

I lack both blood and erogenous zones

I am but a skeleton, a pile of bones

I am tired, I am sad

I am hungry (though no food can make me fat)

I am spry, I am glad

I am thirsty (though I'm leaking like a knitted hat)

I'm feeling vivid and alive, despite

That something isn't entirely right

For my fingers are cold, and so are my toes

My neck and my arms are dreadfully thin

My kneecaps and joints are obscenely exposed

And my jaws are locked in a macabre grin

I lack both blood and erogenous zones

I am but a skeleton, a pile of bones

Skriven av mig, så var snäll och stjäl den inte. Vilka psykiska störningar som orsakade det här poetiska utbrottet är nog inte av något som helst intresse för någon annan än mig själv att rota i, så jag skriver inte mer än så här.