she used to love it when the men in black and gleaming silver

(just becaue white was too overused for them) came,

group by group, with their polished entourage and

their funny little top hats and fawning bows and

goldentipped canes, it was like

a sort of delusional-fantastical

novocaine for the one whose

smile (they said)

never fades.

-

she used

to smile and

believe, truly, that

people cared about her and

it's like (they said) she was the

most beautiful, with her radiant (forever)
smiling exterior, but it was true, they could

never look beyond the surface 'cos they were

always so preoccupied with their rumors of material

immortality. it just ended the day she caught my eye.

-

they used

to say that I

could never be

the one who would

be doing "stupid", "abnormal"

things. well call me insane, but the

night she caught my eye at the museum

i knew things were never going to be the same.

i knew i'd become mr. artistic nemesis,

and it just hurt to know that she was

the one who had to endure all that

complete crap and eat shit

everyday, just being the

"one who smiles"

but can't speak,

can't think,

can't.

-

and now i look at my burning torch

with its flame hot enough to

darken the world forever

with its ferocity, but who would know?

moan, alissa, burn.