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.