I'm writing a story
It's like a Disney flick
With a princess and all

The princess is beautiful
& kind
And  sings
But
She finds an ancient gem
Full of power and wealth
It acts on her dreams
Colluding with reality
Trick-or-treat

Later
She finds herself in peril
she's stalked
By 1 million mirrors
Parroting her every move
Lurking around every corner

They catch-up with the princess
Ghastly clouded    mirrors
Hovering + being
There.

Stalked by 1 million mirrors

Until they are
Upon her

The reason I don't wear makeup
Is that I don't want there to be
Anything on my face
That distracts you from Me.
And no, I don't look pretty
Buried beneath the layer
Of foundation and gloss.
Because then, I'm barely there.
Only when unadulterated, untouched,
Does my skin look perfect,
Adorned with the best rouge there is-
Which is, my Self.

Go ahead and take me,
Knock me down a few notches.
I'm slowly being broken down,
And around everyone watches.
Look at me run back,
Right back into your toxic arms.
Wrapping me in warm caress,
Preparing my heart for new scars.

I just can't stay away.
Your steady breaths,
Musical talent,
Barreling eyes.
What makes me stay?

Though you've changed so slightly,
More swindle, less might, maybe?
Without a secure purpose,
I fly straight towards you.
Wanting to be needed,
Wanting to make you pleased.
Even with my joy from that,
The pain I have won't cease.

You'll never care.
And no one will ever see,
Why even when you ignore,
I fly,
towards you,
with ease.

Terrifying façade,
long and tall, overpowering
but frail.
Ready to crumble and fall.

Snide wire intertwined,
exit wounds in the concrete flesh.
Each thorn stood to attention,
unwelcoming guards of the now unwanted.

Block after block
of relentless alleyways,
like a labyrinth of colossal gravestones.
The sky opens.

Water rattles bullet-like,
upon the once majestic city walls.
The cathedral moans its last hymn
as the steeple betrays itself.

The descent prevails.

Is there no pen for my hand to bear?
No thought tamed by self owned wit?
The stationary leers into me,
My mind succumbs to hysterical fit.
To what veil shrouds my mind?
A clairvoyant candle once for lit.
O' my imagination's seems,
... acquaintances
                 far past met.

Because in the end, all we all ended up wanting
was It.
Not the fun, the productivity, the connection,
Not anything we found at the beginning.
Now all we wanted (and still want,
Whether we are sober, dealing or somewhere in between)
Is to find ourselves the tiny shards of zero-
We will stop at nothing to
chase the white dragon.

And where is she now?
What is she doing?
Well she is here,
In most ways,
for him.
Funny that Irony.

So lonely and alone was she,
our Key,
that the thought of her self being good enough
for him to need
was more than anything she could ever need.


And now,
her brain slows a lot,
loving herself,
just as difficult a lot
and she misses being herself again.
Not part of the THE LOCK AND THE KEY,
but just
herself again
   An enigma,
Misty mystery.