My birthright I have traded for a petal dress
If I could carry calla lilies on my shoulder once more
For some of us, beauty is carcinoma.
I died last year. My mother made her tears into crystal
Stars burn a sharp, white nacre until they evaporate.
|"Epitaph X" first appeared in Horror Vacui, published by Sarabande Books, 2006. © Thomas Heise.|