Beautiful spinal cord, almost stunning. Designed and trademarked by an angel, maybe a muse, yes. Mix in more of that personal magic. Don't follow the recipe, Euterpe.
Form that body between your hands, isn't it like dough? Sweet, filled with sugar, no, it must be honey, use honey! That will never expire. Makes the skin smooth, too.
Choose the whitest set of teeth. Make it look like a diamond when flashing a smile. Charming. And fill the empty chambers of the heart. There is plenty of ingredients left.
Here: harm, love. Use both. These will merge in the brain and end in silence. Maybe it will hurt someone, but don't think about that. Add some ignorance, that'll do.
Perfect. Ready and complete. Looks more like a god, not a human being. Delight in what you made and let it run, ruin everything. It will stay true. True and lethal.
I am still recovering from the damage. Made itself an acquaintance, then a friend. Made me a believer—told you, a god. Scarred and convinced me it was my fault. It was, yes.
Then a stranger again. Left, got more pain to cause somewhere else. It was wrong to disobey the recipe, Euterpe. Serve in a million portions, it said. Not a single dose.