lelezippy16
i see a scene in which i am wandering through the arabian desert wearing only my skin tight boots and a pair of matching ear muffs. when i walk backwards i can see that the only one standing in this vast desert earing ear muffs and skin tight boots is me. only me. by myself. i can tell that most of what is coming out of my mouth is fog, dust collected on the crumbling pages of books. the curtain of my scene comes to an end. and i bow so that everyone can see how proud i am of my work. they don't understand how long this took me. they can see the props, the makeup and my large ego dancing before them, but how long it took to perfect this seems to elude them in many ways. i tick off the seconds on my fingers until you come along and tell me that its ok to leave now. your voice follows over me comparing me to all the other little girls in the world who are trying to make themselves become the beauty of their obsession. it can't be helped that we yearn to complete the puzzle that contorts our face into the magazine page, and takes the effort of a thousand strong men to control. its a never ending wave of ambition that clouds even the best of judgement, and confines the smallest of inklings to the backs of our spongy exteriors. i can tell you know that when that curtain rises, its only the beauties that can tell you how much the light burns. the light that cracks through the skins and around your mouth, leaving rings of delicate brutalness and toughens you into the aligator that swims darling through the marshes. he's so brave, you think, holding your head in your hands. but he's just surviving, there's nothing else to it, and when you read to much into his behavior, thats when you lose yourself in the moment, and find you have crawled out the other side of the rabbit whole.