Promiscuous makes an entrance, her mouth is full of questions. Are we all brides to be? Are we all designed to be confined? Buy ourselves chastity belts and lock them, organize our lives and lose the key. Our faces all resemble dying roses from trying to fix it, when instead we should break it, we've got to break it before it breaks us. Fear of pretty houses and their porches, fear of biological wristwatches. Fear of comparison shopping, dogs on leashes behind fences, barking. Pretty little pillows, on floral couches, until our faces all resemble dying roses. Stop trying to fix it.