the lady behind the mirror
To that love whom I await
This inverted woman, she listens for her children,
and positions the thermometer around her neck in memory of her own vain understanding of herself.
Driven by pity, she looks behind the mirror,
the dust is thick; only in this does she see peace.
For vanity is bought with two eyes,
and no one who dresses in lies can see the beasts that lust for porcelain meat.
“For a certain love” these women invest their flesh,
but these immortal words are the first statements made verbally stillborn.
You do not sell the sunset and you would not trade life for money,
still the visage in the bottles and creams presses at your pocket.
The gamble is grandiose and still you exchange the soul for dead skin,
dolled and delicate it always crumbles.
“For love” you ask much of the power to predict your immortality,
you know that this is a frantic gesture and that god is a vicious bargain.
I am a ray of hope in a Hell-lit world,
I will show you the reflection in your pond of tears,
together we can wave the facade away in a rippled act of renewal.
This new mirror is a one way image, and it is compact in your anatomy.
Stride along anew and let the beauty reach out with your empowered voice.
