I feel nothing
I mean I feel cold, but that’s because it’s freezing outside
But I feel nothing inside
Like a Stepford Wife
I look normal, I even wore bronzer & mascara today
I fit right in with everyone else at the bakery
No one knew that the woman ahead of them in line buying cupcakes, was actually a creepy dead robot
They didn’t realize that I let you gut me
That I didn’t even put up a fight
And that now it’s too late
My psyche no longer glimmers psychedelically, it’s now dull – like Benjamin Moore’s paint color Cement Gray #2112-60
The other day a man tried flirting with me
But when I looked him straight in the eyes, he saw my shameful truth
He saw that I could no longer flirt, I’d lost the skill
I used to love flirting – the beautiful, innocent kind of flirting that makes a person feel good, that makes a person feel ALIVE
I wanted to tell him:
“I’m so sorry I can’t flirt with you, I’m dead inside, but I would if I could”
So I walk the streets, wearing my bronzer – just a Stepford Wife out for her daily constitutional
Imgine if people found out I was dead?
It would be mayhem
The police would be called, an ambulance too
But what would they do with a nicely-dresssed dead woman roaming the streets?
Is there a secret psych ward in the hospital for Stepford Wives?
Maybe I should go there, they’re my people after all
We could sit and drink tea and eat scones and chit chat
The doctors wouldn’t even need to medicate me since I’m already dead
sparkledame 