Zorrfus

I wear a skin that is not mine, a suit of twisted seams and button eyes that cannot see. I am doll and human at once, hidden within the deformed tenderness of a costume that weighs like a secret. From the center of my chest I emerge: a watchful eye, a broken smile, a hand that insists on reminding the world I am still here. The fabric wraps me as both refuge and prison, and in its red stains leaks the truth of what I am—fragile, torn, yet impossible to conceal. I walk between the adorable and the sinister, between what plays and what wounds. In me dwells contradiction, and those who look upon me must decide whether they see a toy or a bleeding body, a mask or a face demanding to be recognized.