DOLLS

A doll, an icon of soulless perfection.

How many dolls have you been while you lived?

… pinned, desired, and loved by passersby like a doll with fixed blue eyes and blonde curls,

still inside a bulletproof, erectile-resistant showcase, out of reach,

an inflatable doll inflated by the invasive illusory world,

immobile and capricious,

empty and untouched,

pinned to some ritual,

poorly emptied,

but well groomed,

I poke and smile at the nothingness that invades my nonexistent soul from hidden Venus … neither anointed nor pointed! In front of me comes the wind of fresh air.

I disguise myself as a doll, overwhelming the wall of my certainties. The long stroke to the hypothalamus has become soaked in blood.

Grimacing, my pineal gland like a frayed piece of felt has connected to the Universe.

The ceremony with which the world dresses is over, and its cumbersome cloak is no longer needed…

The doll is naked, but raw!