Vanity is as gaudy as a whore’s dress.
An incurable affliction comparable to
Dorian gray’s grin.
Reality breathes a lonely, rude reality-
awakening wounds tenuously closed.
Beauty’s canvas is smoothed in a
fragmented glass that once showered
radiance as she used vanishing cream to
smooth away life’s imperfections.
Tending the image she sees in her glass,
living a life dictated by the subconscious
influence of others.
Feeding the human poll with her ideal
narcissistic solutions hidden behind photo
shop and selfies.
Stuck in their reverie, living off exaltation,
attention seeking and flattery.
Constantly gloating and fishing for praises.
Egotistical: caressing a fake reality, living a lie.
She walks from mirror to mirror like a ghoul.
Serenading an idolized plastic body.
Obsessed with her fake external façade.
Living a life through imaginary flashing bulbs
as she gazes through psychotic eyes crystallized
with lies in search of approval and validation.
Pieces of vanity graze the fields of her dreams
like a haunting memory as she frowns at her
diminishing beauty, withering body and skin
A ghostly reflection shown through the broken
images of vainglory dashing into the illuminating
beam of reality.
A theatrical presentation of life’s ironies and
daunting realities, an outcry ensured.
The walls of vanity crumble, crashing with her
malevolent fragrance of reality.