[Gothsicle]

It is late in the day.
Your voice fades as the sun sets
and all I am left with is the memory
of your vocal chords plucking and whining
as my heart skips several beats in honor
of your loathsome inflection

Low and dignified, you speak of your
past and your future, but never your present
For why should we believe that you live and breathe and feel,
just as we are apt to?
But you cut and bleed and throb and release with passion.
You are a beautiful stranger in our midst.
Your words go only deep enough to
take the key out of the lock,
so that we might catch a glimpse through the keyhole into your being.
Guilt and abandon, desire and necessity,
lust and discipline dwell there if only to spite us,
to make us less whole, less human, less living.

Your beauty tortures. Your mystique baffles. Your burlesque enlightens.
Every breath you take is an enigma, elusive and fleeting,
much as we wish ourselves to be, but cannot perfect.
We are not you for we have not walked in your shoes
for quite as long as we trust you to have.
We do not understand why you say things,
but we cling to your every word,
much as we cling to life, or to one another.






Its about Amanda Palmer. I'm crazy about her. She has a deep voice.