Note: I like this quite a bit, mind blowing imagery.
The girl, such a tenuous thing, with friable skin and feeble bones wore a black Lolita dress cupped over pearl frills and anonymous bows. The silken material rolled in and out her palms and felt foreign to her senses, her artificial senses of not touch but recognition. For, what was an android girl to be if she did not encounter the abundance of silk? Chestnut curls in quivering mishaps framed the sculpture and only illuminated the radiance of her brown iris’ that held magnetic sparks that bolted through (but only hypnotic dreams controlled by electricity).
It was winter, 28th July 1992, the frostiest icicles pricking at the greys of your veins, when silver lined the cracks in the pavement and clinged to the trees for doubting support, that she witnessed a ghost in her reflection. For hours of unceasing minutes and minutes of unending seconds, she had stared into the pupil’s of her mirror’s eyes to find she was somewhere new, a cascade of dust consumer her in the least post-modern attitude. What atoms disbursed from powder to create such an illusion of herself? The ghost’s soulless eyes (made from steel) and fingernails aching and yearning for something it couldn’t have.
III. Last Quarter
Lolita Girl soothed the bruises (the monsters) of her knees, burnt bruises of deception and beauty and a suitcase of nothings and nothings waiting in the corner. While she cried and the velvet tears strummed the goldmines of her porcelain cheeks, her eyes turned white like the centre of the Vega star. When she wailed, miniature brides in white dresses fell from her eyes and clung to the pores of her skin but wait - too late, they fell, as all tears do and the Vega star never maintains lustrous forever.
There was an event that occurred on the day were Lolita Girl’s arms failed to work and a French girl visited with ruby apples grazed upon her cheeks and the richest of rubies embedded into the cores of her lips. Lolita Girl followed her around until she left, unable to reach, to touch, to speak. Isolation shelled her like a gun barrel that was fully loaded with segregation and quarantine simultaneously shot at her, her bionic arms glued to her sides and her lips being sewed shut. Voiceless and deprived and bruised, Lolita Girl wailed more figurine brides.
In the most rawest of dreams, she surged the forbidden lands with a voice too loud and guards too mute to stop her.
Her silken Lolita dress achieved the floor and too exhausted, she only sighed. Her bones too fragile and skin too firm (Much too firm) was now deteriorating in angst and without the fine touch of another.
VII. First Quarter
October 30th 2003, Lolita Girl projected herself down to a riverbed of acrylic sand and clouds too white, too white for her, tucked away into jars. Rations too radiant from across foreign seas ate her lips. For, what was an android girl to be if she could not experience the wealthy sense of Caribbean luxuries? (Although the tastes remained indistinctive upon her pouted lips)
Ultimately, the Lolita Girl was just a rag doll regulated by strings and a puppet of discipline approval without a voice and a fragmented imagination.