...

Makeup

---

i find myself here again

in Your room.

i make myself comfortable

the best way i know how.

i'm trying on Your lipstick, Girl,

and i'm trying on all Your clothes

and although it's like a second skin to me, Girl,

it's one that no one

- no one real -

really knows.

But that skin is loose,

it doesn’t fit me quite right,

it wasn't made for me, 

it won't last the night.

It's just a pale imitation

of someone that i wish i was.

Another object of my imagination

of something that i wish i was.

An idol in Your image, a statue,

with which i've formed myself

into a brand new Girl.

One that maybe, just maybe,

You'd share a kiss with,

one that could stop the world.

Tell me.

Does it make You feel pretty when He kisses You?

Does the way that He treats You

make You feel good?

i want to be pretty,

i wanna be You,

but

He won't even look at me -

well,

not that I'd really want him to.

But 

his validation means so much to me.

Does it not mean the same to You?

i know that it's stupid,

and that it's programmed,

and imaginary,

but,

all in all,

that's just my point of view.

It's not 

You.

And it's not

Yours.

As little as his admiration means to me

(or, at least, as little as it should),

it's the one thing i know that turns You on,

and it's the one thing that gets me

closer.

Can She not do the same

for You?

Oh,

but don't i look so pretty in Your makeup?

With this, i can make up a Girl just like You.

Don't i look so pretty,

done up in Your image?

Isn't this just a new point of view?

Do You think it's selfish?

For me to be just like You?

i think that it's selfish,

for You to keep so much of You

all to Your pretty little Self.

It's like You're a whole different breed,

from me.

i know.

i know that

it's folly,

to see myself in You,

and that it's already much to late

to pretend.

i'd cleave and render until i resemble You,

but,

if my body were clay,

it was not shaped like You (in Your image).

i was bestowed no bone, 

and i was not placed by Your side,

nor meant to be.

i am no neighbor.

And,

given that i was clay,

i've already grown so frail.

i am afraid that i've been left

immutable,

and so far gone

from an impression of You.

All there is left

to do, 

is to mend, 

and paint,

and cover

myself,

in that which most reminds me

of You.

i can't say that i really see You.

What's in front of me 

is no looking glass.

i see You through a screen,

and through that saccharine,

digital majesty,

made of colors - Red, Green, and Blue.

You

are

perfect.

And i do not see

that which debases You.

i only see that which is laid bare,

and that which

i wish to see

in me.

Oh, it's a mirror, sure enough.

But when that screen fades,

and my own eyes adjust,

i see only myself looking back.

It isn't You.

Not the You that i wished to see reflected.

And there is nothing more that can ruin me.

If i closed my eyes,

and formed a new darkness,

what then would i see?

Would it be me?

Or, finally,

You?

---

Don't You look so good on me?

Don't i look so good on You?