Reflection

February 12, 2009
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She stares into the silver mirror.
Her aquamarine eyes gaze back,
Imploring for an egress.
Her delicate ruby lips are fused,
Screaming mutely of her agony.
Rosy cheeks feel numb from the red wine air.
Her imperial nose inhales the intense scent,
Sparked with magenta freesia and routine limits.
Her gold hair escalades in tendrils.
Black pearls titivate her pale neck,
Asphyxiating her slowly.

She sprays her French pomegranate and rosewood perfume.
Rising from her antique chair,
She grasps her silver mirror,
Throws it.
It shatters.
Just like her soul already has.





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This article has 2 comments. Post your own now!

Katya K. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Apr. 23, 2009 at 12:02 am
i see what you mean.
myy goal was to show how glamor has a twisted side
 
Descant This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Apr. 22, 2009 at 4:24 am
In poetry, the goal is for every word to be charged with meaning. A lot of the details here seem to convey no more than glamor, and it kind of distracts from the emotional center of the work.
You could use the glamor as an ironic contrast to raw agony, but things stand it seems like your subject is suffering fashionably instead of actually.
 
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