Dermabrasion;
red raw price
for self-acceptance,
derision the visible part
of deep, deep shame.
Hiding in a hotel room,
struck
by the lightening of profoundly shocking
beauty in her…
“Oh tell me room
that I am invulnerable”
(While) hot as hell,
his face, finally
in the company of Bang and Olufsen,
- not alone! -
surrounded by cold designer walls.
Struck
by the arrow of non epidermic beauty,
too deeply moved by its memory,
- shaken -
he falls
like a bottle of cherry soda,
becomes
a stain on a white, furry carpet,
(while) two thousand and eight bubbles,
- released -
roll, jump, pop
into thin air,
(while) thick blood and ink,
encapsulated in forced communion,
remain
in the stale atmosphere of a glass jail.
Stranded,
he falls
on the bed, how convenient,
(while) he pushed his beloved
on the barbed wire of his jagged conscience.
Ruthless,
his identity so rootless,
just feet barely touching the carpet...
but what can lessen his loss?
Soft lounge music?
And, when it is time to clean
and give back
what is only borrowed,
the taste of fake cherries
and sickening sweetener
haunt the fraud’s mind…
Dishonest
hidden behind leather and steel,
still in the past, when he was invited
and secretly shed a tear
in the room of beauty.
But tonight
- and every night -
he feels like a house of cards,
a trick with no one behind,
lightness bound to a heavy coping mechanism,
with the highest price to pay for
insincere response to beauty.