I'm 'her'...

And the shutter speed slows down again.
Disturbing my hollow somnolence.
Etching the endless maze into my eyes.
A bladeless promise, reversing the pleasure.
Weep into my hands and…
Over shoot me.
Shoot me; again. Won’t you?
Again and…
Again.
Until I’m shot dead and the lens reflects the pain.
(Shoot me please?)
I’ll be yours to show.
I’m her.
Yes…
I’m “her”,
Proving to be the prelude of my existence,
Unceremoniously drenched in black and white tones,
Performed and showcased.
A grade in your perfect record,
An untrained image- seen only as it’s meant to.
I shut the weary eyes that show me who you are,
My cold eyelashes sweep up the ivory black sky…
And you’re back to shooting
(To kill this time)
Obscuring the hand that made me.
Touch my skin: That I might know of all you’ve done:
Speak the words of silence,
Control that of which rebels.
Show me a World emotionless- let me hide in it.
Let me HATE to LOVE.
(It’s what I want…listen please? I’m crying out, hear my screaming. But?)
Yes, I’ll stay still.
Entomb me for an eternity.
I hold and resent the intimacy of your mind.
(Show me)
Allow me to close my eyes- in order to see.
Frame me,
I’m “her”.
Hold me in high reign,
Darkened by my purity.
I’m not far gone,
Embracing the frozen depths.
Callous and un-harmed
It’s Art (I’m sure)

I’ll make sure you watch me bleed myself dry…

Laugh as the uncontrollable tears flow.
Catching my breath and losing the power.
Break in…Break me down.
I’m “her”.
Shiver in your wake,
The manic gleam of dominance gauging out my soul,
And persecuting my imaginary being.
I force you to Love me,
Though I know you don’t.
Smother my perfect dream; destroy all hope of happiness.
The negatives indenting an extortionate sorrow.
Yours is a victory.
The fingerprints smear a dictionary of your words to your throat,
And cast a plague upon the wall…
Graft a pattern of smooth scars.
I can’t change the World, but it does change me.
I sit in exhibition. In exhalation.
Concluded before I’m seen.
I’m “her”.
Alone within the fall of grace,
Whispering notes of a dead choir,
Shaken to despair.
A grief tormenting my aching heart.
Fire ripping through the print,
Destroying a once was.
You were mine, I was yours.
What do I feel when my feelings don’t work?
Pluck at the strings,
Deliver the subordinate speech.
Let the shots ring out and pierce my flesh.
Allow the gradual stain to spread rapidly into the fabric;
Before the salty beginnings sting my face.
Absorbing my forgiveness.
Chance another look…

The mirror never lies,
But a photograph does…