Andromède

by Pressed Orchid




It is not your tale to tell
If you don't wear my body on your bones
I had a name before I turned to stone
I had roots in the earth before you chained me
To this island boulder
Here I stand eroded by wind and ocean
Water meets earth and makes clay
Clay meets air and turns to stone
In the turbulence I became
A cold fossil
Mistaken for a statue
Given as a gift to feed a monster
Je suis belle, o mortels, comme un reve de pierre
There is no perfect man
There is no certain or uncertain death
There is no certain man
There is no perfect death

Written by: Sarita Farnelli

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