charlotte.

Charlotte the pierrot is half alive with a permanent tear imprinted on his face. He is a proper man, with a few missing and a few extra limbs that is. The mirror and nature are betrayers. They swallow the truth happily, and all the living creatures on the face of the earth don't see the man in Charlotte.

Charlotte the pierrot is a dragger. He drags his body out of bed, leaving his head under the blanket. He drags his body from the past to the present, leaving the mess in his heart out of his chest. He drags over broken glass, spilled coffee, shattered hearts and all the rest. They don't all see at all the mess missing from Charlotte's head.

Charlotte the pierrot has bad habits that he imprisons his present in. He told me one dawn " new shoes raise my soul". And so he walks in high heels, ripping through rays of sunlight and breaking threads on the blanket of the night. The soles of the shoes fall apart along with his heart; and with a swallow bleeding heel he walks. Charlotte bites his nails to the death of his fingertips. Those that bleed as he tries to hold onto the doors that never fail to close and crush his tender fingers to their tender deaths.

Charlotte rolls out of bed. A box of shattered glass shake in his head, with sounds like solitude bells on a Christmas night. Charlotte rolls out of bed. A permanent tear heavy as lead, is permanently imprinted on his permanently sick face. Charlotte rolls out of bed. The cigarette's fire is dead; he inhales loneliness now. Charlotte rolls out of bed. He puts his silver collar bones with the piles of paper to shred. Charlotte will never again roll out of bed.

Am I Charlotte? Asked the petals glued onto the walls. The world is full of guessers, but their curiosity are locked in a box like Charlotte's inked ribs with empty halls.