a blue neon cross on the tower is shining over manila's streets where they are standing and selling their breakable dolls bodies she said she is twelve years old and her name is arlene on her left forarm are some small scares to see beutiful faces and the call of the flash 40 dolars for a life without choice when the trip is abating and a sober coldness through her body creeps she has the feeling to set her body from that crawling skin free so arlene cuts at her arms a fast cut with the razor blade empty eyes look tired and depressed unnamed glow in the eyes of nameless but ghostly white faces are still waiting blow up forever the fat old folks I wish to hear a voice that shouts they should be sent into hell they should be sent to the sword
oh arlene don't cut yourself no more cuts no danger to death no no more cuts
