Morse Code

Reform’d swindler that I am
Waves of karma shant abate
Now I play a game of it
Paying off the cake I ate
Fascination in the fabric
That they choose for my veil
I’m white on rice to each detail
Counting cracks, awaiting bail
A cheap cassette-tape lullaby
I lap up all 12,000 nights
That you think made you who you are
You know what’s funny about the Japanese girl-doll?
It wasn’t the blepharoplasty
That cut her off from her sight
It was the moment she believed her own vision
Spinning that yarn to anyone who would listen
And in her quest for recognition
For adulation and distinction
She became discarnate,
isolated,
a figment.

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