House of Mirrors
Everything is vacant.
The air empty, clear, and cold.
I walk across the ancient stone floor, gliding impeccably.
Perfect in grace.
I twirl exactly in perfect loops and eights,
around the room and back again.
The walls are mirrored, and I am alone.
My burgundy eyes follow me in the reflection.
My porcelain skin, and my white, silken dress.
I feel nothing.
And at the same time, everything.
The nothingness of forever, and the everything of time.
I feel compressed, confined, and free.
As I dance about, my arms looped around an imaginary neck,
I can pretend, that I am not so alone.
I pretend to feel his cool breath,
sweet on my face, and I can pretend to be alive.
The veil I wear is morbidly right.
And beautifully wrong.
I was never a bride, it was never meant to be.
But I look beautiful, and for now I pretend.