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Literature Text
it stings,
the cold smile she wears
just to keep you out. and it's rancid
like the darkness permeating her rotting core.
the shadow, slung over her shoulder
like a thick black cloak
that rather than protecting her
from the biting cold creates it,
is immense, looming and indestructible.
and it aches,
somewhere deep inside her,
the desire she can neither hide nor deny
to be the one,
something special that no one can resist,
to see her name up in lights,
snatch the leading role,
but instead she's the lead of her own dead-end soap opera,
not even her friends will watch,
and the script is full of lies,
pages of sales pitches.
implants and extensions,
she keeps her eyes on the prize,
but the pages are blank,
novels full of empty lines,
heavy with secrets of the most delicate sort,
like the dark place she hides when she just can't breathe
or where she buried her heart,
or how she cries herself to sleep.
and every night before bed, she's sure to say her prayers,
"take me far away from here, let me wake up anywhere"
and halfheartedly she wishes to end it all
and wake up in paradise.
and the one thing
she wants,
more than anything else,
is to feel like she's not her own goddamn doppelganger,
because she swears
the girl in the mirror died years ago,
drowning in self-pity when her dreams derailed,
drinking herself into ignorant bliss,
spiking her juice at 8 a.m.
and spinning a toothpick atop a US map
trying to figure out
where she'd wake up next time
and secretly guarding her most delicious desire
never to wake up at all
because her dream world
was the sweetest cake
that she ever wanted to have and eat
all for herself.
it stings,
the paralyzing, prickling sensation
of the cold settling in.
the shadow, slung over her shoulder
like a thick black cloak
that rather than protecting her
from the biting cold creates it,
is immense, looming and indestructible.
the glass shatters on the bathroom floor,
she falls but feels nothing,
spiraling forever into herself,
a sweet smile covering her face
as she finally lays her weary head down to sleep
her dreams on the tip of her twitching fingers
her paradise
finally within her reach.
the cold smile she wears
just to keep you out. and it's rancid
like the darkness permeating her rotting core.
the shadow, slung over her shoulder
like a thick black cloak
that rather than protecting her
from the biting cold creates it,
is immense, looming and indestructible.
and it aches,
somewhere deep inside her,
the desire she can neither hide nor deny
to be the one,
something special that no one can resist,
to see her name up in lights,
snatch the leading role,
but instead she's the lead of her own dead-end soap opera,
not even her friends will watch,
and the script is full of lies,
pages of sales pitches.
implants and extensions,
she keeps her eyes on the prize,
but the pages are blank,
novels full of empty lines,
heavy with secrets of the most delicate sort,
like the dark place she hides when she just can't breathe
or where she buried her heart,
or how she cries herself to sleep.
and every night before bed, she's sure to say her prayers,
"take me far away from here, let me wake up anywhere"
and halfheartedly she wishes to end it all
and wake up in paradise.
and the one thing
she wants,
more than anything else,
is to feel like she's not her own goddamn doppelganger,
because she swears
the girl in the mirror died years ago,
drowning in self-pity when her dreams derailed,
drinking herself into ignorant bliss,
spiking her juice at 8 a.m.
and spinning a toothpick atop a US map
trying to figure out
where she'd wake up next time
and secretly guarding her most delicious desire
never to wake up at all
because her dream world
was the sweetest cake
that she ever wanted to have and eat
all for herself.
it stings,
the paralyzing, prickling sensation
of the cold settling in.
the shadow, slung over her shoulder
like a thick black cloak
that rather than protecting her
from the biting cold creates it,
is immense, looming and indestructible.
the glass shatters on the bathroom floor,
she falls but feels nothing,
spiraling forever into herself,
a sweet smile covering her face
as she finally lays her weary head down to sleep
her dreams on the tip of her twitching fingers
her paradise
finally within her reach.
.
© 2011 - 2024 3v3rdr34m3r
Comments10
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There is something quite solemn and lamentable about this poem. This poem really affected me inside, to be honest. I love the comparisons you make, and the narrative part of "spinning a toothpick a top a US map." The intensity and emotion speaks very well. Great poem!