Reflections....

[- Femme -]

I take a moment to truly look at her and study her ravaged face. I can no longer ingnore her presence, and relegate her to the back of my mind. She defiantly gazes back at me, emotionless, teardrops as brilliant as diamonds clining to her lashes and gently falling into her kohl lined flashing eyes. She doesnt flinch at my scrutiniy but patiently waits. For what? I do not know. She looks older than her years, world weary, hesitant like a badly hurt child. Sadness seems to seep out of every pore of her body and her fragile shoulders slump under the weight of long forgotten promises. Shes stands there utterly alone, deafeated, silently pleading, vulnerable. Thin, red lines streak across her heavily lided eyes to disappear into the rid rimmed black pools. The simple act of opening them seems like a monumental task. Her small mouth is dry, puckered, blending against the ashen pallor of her gaunt face. She lost her innocent beauty, her lustre for life. Her once plump mouth droops at the corners and the flawless face slighty sags, potmarked. The layers of makeup do little to hide the bruises. Her dull, brittle hair falls about her face in stringy, frizzled curls. A sigh escapes her lips and floats in the air.

 

I cant take my eyes off of her, try as I might. Her haunting face has me rooted to the spot, transfixed and powerless. She looks comfortably familiar, like an old friend, a forgetten memory. I have known her long ago, and the subtle differences between the two images grab my attention. Her breath comes out in small short gasps, falling into perfect harmony with mine, like a well chorographed dance. A lone tears breaks free and starts to gracefully fall down the many crevices lining her face until its captured on the flickering, pink, moist tip of her tongue. She tastes the manifestation of her inner, emotional pain; her muffled agonized screams tearing up the very depth of my soul. I do not know who to help her, to tell her that tommorow is a new begining, to show her that even darkness has its purpose, for does it not bring out the shiny brilliance of the stars?

 

I slowly lean towards her, my eyes locked with hers, and brush the faintest of brushes againt her lips. Cool, smooth glass presses gently against my salty mouth. The spell breaks, and my senses snap back violently. A small knot of shame burns hot in the pit of my stomach as I turn away from mirror.

 

[NomadicQueen]

That was beautiful...MashaAllah. I didn't need the picture to explain, your descriptives were outstanding. Are you are writer?

[- Femme -]

Hi there,

 

Thanks. Yeah I try to write in little scraps of paper which I promptly throw in the garbage. Me and my pen have a love hate relationship but its something I enjoy. I saw that image while surfing the net and it wouldnt go out of my head until I wrote some kind of story behind it. It has a sort of haunting, mysterious quality about it - or I'm just hallucinating.

 

P.S Welcome to SOL. I see your a poet...look 4ward to contributions from you.

[NomadicQueen]

Its good to know i am not the only one who thinks their stuff is going to blow minds untill i read it the second time. At which point i self loathingly tear it up into tiny tiny tiny microscopic pieces, paranoid that someone may read my psychotic ramblings.

[- Femme -]

Pull up a chair dear. I simply adore psychos. Why, they're the spice of life. The most interesting, facinating people in the world.

 

Normal is so 1845.

[muunad]

i loved this peom! just loved it.