Beauty is pain

When I die, take my corpse and throw it in a puffy pink dress.
Drag red lipstick across my rotting lips and eye shadow on my sunken eye lids.
Spray glitter on my dead skin and cover me in a sickly mist of vanilla perfume.
Trap me behind glass so people are close enough to see me but not too close so I can be tainted by mankind.

Don't write about who I was or even remember my name.
Look at me through the glass and feel that churning, wrenching sickness at the pit of your stomach.
Try and say the words you shoved down my throat
"Beauty is pain."

I want it to be too hard for you to look at me
I want it to be sickening seeing my body rot in complete femininity.
All I want to be remembered for is my femininity.
Forget my name and my story; it's not important, is it?

Remember me for my beauty, as I rot away.
As maggots crawl through my skin and flies lay their eggs.
Remember me for only that.