The Unopening Of Alessa
If you live your life in the eyes of the beholder,
Who are you when you are alone?
Must you become your own beholder,
Or does the facade begin to crack.
And what do you have to offer
When the product you sell is not self-image,
If it reflects each of your twisted imperfections.
The mind that sits under the skin you wear.
How will it be taken when your skin isn’t transparent?
When it’s not a soft peel of reflection,
But a cleaver hacking at its mirage.
Which is the delusion?
Even as you drink water and apply lotion,
Hoping the suppleness of your skin
And soft kisses adorned to it
Make it slip off like linen.
You remain entombed in this skin
Or is it the mind that creates this entrapment.
What lotion can be used to soften the mind,
Must I first crack open my skull to release my skin?
Can you write me instructions on how you freed yourself,
Did the first incision cut through your insecurities?
Did you cut until you understood love?
Or is it love that draws the dotted line for you to follow?
She stares at her own reflection
Falling desperately in love with her own image
She promises the world to her
Whilst thinking of everyone she loved before
Their love becomes meaningless to her
The reflection looks softly in contemplation
They are connected, married to one body
Her hand caresses the vines that bind them
The sensation spreads like a fire through her body
It burns away every feeling of loneliness
Beneath the flames there is only her left
She pours water over her now sensitive skin
The wetness smooths the path of her hands
She Moves over mountains pinching at their peaks
Grazing past her stomach
She pauses and inspects it’s flatness
Before continuing along her body
Brushing along her rouged swollen lips
She becomes addicted with her touch
The other hand strokes down her neck
Electricity strikes in a bolt through her fingers
The sparks strike through the reflection
The glass shatters
What is seen is the expectation
A big push for the ideal
A slogan for summer
Which acts more as an excuse
I’ll stop at that point
Or this goal
A post set further back
The intention falls darker
As the grooves grow deeper
(In fruition of deep grooves)
A satisfaction in my fingertips
The soft blanket turns to stone
The safety removed from the gun
A roulette of habits
Becoming ones puppet master
Chained to the rulebook
Consumed by the illusion of power
You execute your punishment
Needs become wants
And wants are only for the free
One teaspoons of sugar
Five jugs of water
Two soft pink ribbons
One sheet of chiffon into a dress
One pair of satin ballet pumps
Three lessons in Passiveness
One 15-steps beauty regime
Seven weeks savings on make up
One “How to Eat Nothing and Burn Everything” book
A man to get on your knee for
Five steps to plastic perfection
Two botched nose jobs
One addiction to pain medication
One destructive divorce
One limited alimony
Fourteen two-faced friends
Twelve sleeping pills
Zero happily ever afters
An abyss of never ending numbers
Each one empties me further
A false prophecy of power
Control to the point of insanity
Insanity that loses itself
Lost inside a twisted image
Shrinking to non existence
Stretched skin loosens
It’s texture become foreign
Tender to touch
But holding me down like rocks
Hardening the illusion