Yesterday I was
No, it wasn't me the other day, not with those eyes, not with those fingers and with the shoulders, I am not a brute like that; I smell of water.
On Mondays I am
The hair is too red this time, she will not love the hair like that. Hair like that, it is not manly the way it should be.
Today I am
What color should I paint those nails? The boobs look good, the face is impossible symmetry. I will find a lover, and he will dream of my riversmell.
Tomorrow I will be
Green eyes, face like Cupid. Not just another boy to hear his songs, but a muse I'll be, made eternal by what he serenades me with; I forget, what shade the green? Moss or grass or emerald?
One day I will be
I look at the face reflected in the water, and it is terrible, makes the water taste like bile. Looks old and brittle, looks like shit, a face past its prime. Water, give me back my faces, give me back the beauty and the truth, the lashes and alabaster; water water take me
Alexa Seidel lives, writes, and fills emptiness with thought.