Miss_Dreamer

Baking

My fingers dig into my flesh

They pinch and prod and roll

My soft skin like dough

I try to kneed it with vigor 

Smoothing out all the lumps

Where I wish I could grab some scissors 

But my body does not wish to be molded 

It seems to rise with a mind of its own 

And I can only watch the silver glass in horror

As it continues to grow