Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Vanity's Downfall

Am I a flower yet?

Enough to be kissed by your gaze?
& held so that my perfume lingers
            on you?

I wonder, if that day
will ever come
where your voice is silent
and I no longer succumb
to the taste in my head.
Stuffed with the words I translated
            into a broken language.

So. Full. I’ve lost my appetite.

I can’t get past it.
The layers, upon layers,
that cover me—
until I can no longer be found.
Held captive by dysmorphic demons
that Despair had conjured.

“The flower is beautiful.”
Slender and bright.
Whimsical as it sways.
            Something fragile.

The fairies say
its the key to happiness.
Comply, and you’ll be free.

Somehow, it’s a lie.
A false promise of stars
to disguise the waste of polluted dreams.

I’ve opened all the doors
but it only leads to here.

Exit is equated with stability,
But that’s impossible when I’m standing on mirrors;
because when I look down,
I have a long way to go,
            before I reach up.

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