Mirror Mirror

They present you with a plate of the sweetest pastries you may never come across again, sitting there, at the very end of a black marble counter, on a study armchair. everything is dark. you see no one, but the body less hands that brings different plates of different meals. it has been going on for hours now, the ropes digging into your skin bruise. you can feel them rub into your..bones.
and you smile, despite the burn of the sisal on your ribs, and the cold, the cold sipping into your feet from the stone floor..you realise you are naked, and the smile on your face melts, because oh the shame, of being laid so bare before all these...faceless, nameless people. and as if you called at it, the jeers, and the cackle starts, as another pair of porcelain hands bring forth a platter of the most disgusting, greasy, gravy slathered ribs. the aroma of it makes the acid in your stomach boil, your blood curl, and your mouth water.
the laughs and the taunts get louder, because they see, they smell how weak you are. so weak. so hungry.
but the knowledge of your hunger makes you stronger. to be so empty, so beautiful, so...pure.
the plate comes closer, and you bite your lip to keep them shut. this has happened before, your lips and hands betray you. they tarnish what you try so hard to make pure. they eat.
and the ropes are loose, and you watch, in horror as your right hand reaches for the juiciest bit of charred flesh. and it all goes black.
suddenly it is just a flurry of senses. no sight. the smell, the taste, the feeling of being filled. oh you could do this forever, your hand keeps moving and your mouth wont stay shut, and your jaw keeps chomping, chomping, such a pig. such an animal, its all good, it feels so good, you don't know why you didn't do this earlier. why? why? more. more.

and then it all stops. and the silence is deafening, except for that little voice in your head.
"look at you"
"such a failure"
"pathetic"
sigh. "you were almost pretty"
"LOOK AT YOU"
an ornate mirror appears before you, and you see yourself for what you have become.
tarnished.
the gravy all over your face.
the sauce on your hands.
the smell of food
Mirror Mirror on the wall, who....

you wake up, covered in sweat, the sun is setting, oh Lord no, not another night.
you reek of desperation and a broken soul.
you run your hands all over yourself,
bones, bones, flesh, fat, bones, fat, flesh, fat.

the phone rings
"get dressed, I'm picking you up in twenty minutes."
"are you mad?? i am barely decent"
"get dressed"

two hours later, a glass of vodka in your hand, neat, because you only partake in that which is pure, and the music is too loud, not louder than the voices in your head, but it will get louder still, it never takes much to get that buzz, because you try to stay pure.
"lets dance," she says, and taps your shoulder.
you turn and smile,
"sure.." she stares at you, her ayes trying to see every secret your face has to hide...but your make up is flawless tonight. a brush here, a stroke there, a pat here, a dab there..and you are the perfect puppet to the master in your head, the source of your self-destruction, pulling the strings, smashing all my dreams, creating new, better dreams
you smile wider..."dance...?"
..she narrows her eyes, you give her that smile that always work and roll your eyes..
"forgot how to dance?"
she smiles..."don't get too thin, "

oh what a lovely night this was going to be. a lovely night.



shout out to anyone who spots the Metallica reference