Sheet Cake

Remember the former things; how you could connect all of your joints. The twin respirators of country and surname kept your image from affixation. Now tell me about that wardrobe. The things you put on your body are just another layer of this wonderful story we can no longer read. Very few are able to suffer kind of discontinuity. You have become dangerously illegible. I know of your covert plans to jumpstart identity. It has stalled to the present moment, but you are determined to have it back. Yet, the purr of that engine lies in my work alone. Will you recover a semblance of your personality through exotic travel destinations? Whether you traverse sky or ocean, the pieces I have cut out of you were never true things to begin with. They made you passable to the bee colony of inspection. Cultural taskmasters, political tutors, romantic overseers, and educational ushers were all accustomed to your symmetry. You were inconspicuous in the fullness of taste makers. Now you amble about with a wobble. No feature sits flush against another. There is no angle or roundedness in your being. Curves spiral opposite their intended beautiful deception. I have removed the artifice, and have chocked out delightful color schemes. Is this too much? Have the waking hours taken on nightmare dimensions? Your dreams come back to you in the hopes of scaffolding. This is last hold out of your chrysalises. I don't want you to construct one more fiction. All that is left is to grow parts. From a single cell of humiliation I command the cutting of teeth, sprouting of hair, and hardening of nails. It is my mission to furiously twirl skin and sinew upon bone and muscle. You will no longer hang together by a serious of curious accidents. Though you hated me upon the first meeting, your love will abound to me in the slime and blood of new birth.