Mirror, Mirror

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Have you ever looked out and saw nothing?
Not even yourself?
This is my existence.
I only feel important when my eyes have someone else’s dreams in them.

I live vicariously through adjusted neckties
And jewelry clasps
Portraying a fabricated image of self-esteem
Like chins held high
Trying to make myself look better.

Smeared fingerprints adorn my forehead and cheek
I entrust another with something so fragile
Only to be bad luck if I break
How unfair is that?
Do you try to make it through catastrophes unscathed?

Has superstition insist you be doomed to years of misfortune,
Even though your wounds add facets to your vision?

My life is more nerve-wrecking than yours.
I’m so careful of shattering
The broken parts are so jagged
They cut helping hands that lift me off the floor
I don’t want to hurt anyone
Or be hurt again
What do I do to appear undamaged
Despite having a glass jaw?

Can your kiss infect loved ones with tetanus, too?
Do they need to be injected with medicine to heal themselves of viral strands of your essence?
Well, I need a cure, too
And if you need to tap my vein
There’s a blood-stained river of ego it runs through

Teach me cosmetics
I want to learn the techniques used fix me up even if I’m just by myself.
Guess that’s why I’m a writer
Because I’m really good at reflecting
But no one hear to answer my questions.

La Voix De La Mort

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I am punctuation.
Exclamatory, interrogative, and imperative.
Your sentence ends with me.
Look your executioner in his eyes
And respond to whatever I say in your ear.
How you reply is for you to decide.

Scream my name.
Let shock overwhelm your nerves until it shows on your face.
Do neither.
But know this:
Once I hit, you will be a believer.
Calm.
Violent.
The ending is your choice.
But please don’t run.
You’ll make the pain increase with the sound of my voice.

The reaper of souls demands that you come.
I only need to have you once
Yet the feeling will be amplified by a hundred.
The truth is smooth in its deliverance
And authoritative when owed the life of another.
Demise speaks in baritone.
Now answer me, lover:
Die.
How does it feel to die?
Feed the strokes my ego craves
While I dig into the hole that has become your grave.

I am the night
So this time, dear damsel, you won’t be saved from your demise.
The shivers of darkness caress your spine
Causing it to arch with the understanding that it’s mine for the taking.
Your will to live is mine for the breaking
The tremors in your hips are mine because they’re shaking.
Your last bit of resistence has faded and succumb to what is inescapable.

From rebellion to acceptance.
Embrace my last kiss as your eyelids get heavy.
Sleep, baby.
Sleep.

C. Note

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Tucked inside thin fabric on a hip.
Much closer than my previous owner will ever get.
He smells like hope and hallucination
A combination that will make a prophet of me at the end of the evening.
I am where I am supposed to be:
Next to the knot on a G
Waiting to be pulled from a band as payment for quality service.

We enter and sit.
Front and center to watch the show
Whomever’s performing now is producing cheers and commands.
Bounce.
Drop it low.
Show me what you know.
Attention is being paid, but she has to earn it.
Well.
She must have been worthy, because

Into the air I go with a host of other citizens.
We become a melting pot of a hard day’s work.
Work.
Work.
Salary is now commission.
And I am a part of a mob that a mob is spending that probably pays for tuition.
Drug habits
Patchwork happiness over hearts jaded
The green is needed because her self-esteem has faded.
Maybe.
I’m not supposed to care about her life
However, I’ve been in circulation for awhile,
And it’s my estimation that there is some desperation behind her smile.
I’m a small contribution in the fund
But whatever her reason is, it doesn’t matter to both customer and patron.
The outcome is income.

One flake in a flurry.
No two are alike
Men with x’s on their hands feeding Ororo’s mutant ability to make it precipitate for song after song through the night.

I hope I land face-up on the stage floor
Atop the pile so I can look up and see her come down
And up
And down the pole.
I see why I was thrown.
Muscle control so alluring, it hypnotizes pockets to be made empty
On both sides, there is satisfaction instead of regret.
My cycle continues at the end of the set.

Tucked inside thin fabric on a hip.
Much closer than my previous owner will ever get.
She smells like allure and determination.
A combination that makes a profit of me at the end of the evening.
I am where I am supposed to be:
Next to the knot on a G
Waiting to be pulled from a band as payment for quality service.

A Letter From My Heart

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Dear Johnathan,
I’ve bled for too long.
The fact that I’m still able to beat
With this wound inside me
Proves that you underestimate how strong I can be.

That’s why I’m always aching.
You’re so concerned with me breaking
That you imagine so much more hurt
I keep knocking on your sternum
To let you know I’m damaged, not dead
When will you learn that fear isn’t here with me but all in your head?

It’s time for us to heal, my friend.
It’s time for you to realize that though there’s a lot for you to carry on your shoulders–
And it will put pressure on my aorta–
You better not cast that weight aside and wait for life to be over.

Stop worrying about the clock.
I have plenty of valuable ticks.
And whenever I see you content to watch
It makes me sick.
Your doubt is the scab across me that continues to be picked.

Let go.
Trust me, you have all you need in your chest
That’s why people hear my rhythm with every word that escapes your breath.
I’m not saying I’m the best heart ever created
But I’m a good one and you know it
Think about this:
You and I aren’t totally in sync,
Yet look at how many people have gravitated.

They appreciate you.
I do too.
Now I need you to believe in us
So we can become a brilliantly cut gem once we close this wound.

Sincerely, your heart.
P.S. I love you.
That’s my favorite part of the job.

Weightlifter

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I hear it’s easier to be me.
They say that I’m very strong.
Well, that’s from all the weight I’ve lifted.
I promise my exercise program is not that simple.
Lateral presses slightly make me cave in like dimples.
All the blood rushing causes my muscles to start blushing
I feel the burn.
The regimen is working.
I train my body hard to build up my endurance
So I can lift heavy objects even when I hurt.
When the pain gets worse
I can push through the last rep like it’s the first.
With all the energy I exert,
The triumph is worthwhile
And I can let go of the weight with a smile.

The Lady Speaks (Part 2)

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Hmph.
There’s my baby.
Back where he should be.
In my arms.
Between my thighs.
Giving me the love he was destined to give me
It’s better than poetry.
It’s deeper than pen to ink jar…
It’s so deep.

I know. I know.
I’m not supposed to let him roam
But put your gavel away.
What we do only matters in our home.
The verdict is: he loves me
And I know he loves her…

Her.
I’ve seen her look at us when he has me on my back.
She doesn’t make a sound though.
She knows her place.
I was here first.
I chose him long before he was even interested in her.
So she has no claim over him because I gave him permission to be with her.

But I sympathize with her, a little.
He sure is amazing.
I’ve felt his lips and…
…ooh…
sorry…he just kissed me again.
He brings out all my passion.
He holds me
Folds me
Spreads me open and rips me apart.
Just how I want him to.
I can take it.
Marks left of what we created.
I touch myself and feel his impressions on my skin
Ah…that’s it.
She can’t preserve what he has with her.
I can, and that is the source of her envy.
That’s what separates me from her.
She and I can both help him make memories
But he can only look at me and recall them
I spark his fantasy.
She just receives that spark.
That’s alright.
You’ll have him back.
Just not right now…