My skin is leased. Every inch and every second of every inch to a lipgloss facade.Obscene without it's sheen of processed liquid. Slow poison for slow smiles. The air that lovingly deposits its treasure of pregnant digress upon my skin. I wash it away with the see through poetry of moving water. As it dances like a naked sheet of catharsis on my minuscule craters of pores. My lungs, the biological apparatus of a living empire, their rise and fall unlike any political maneuver. Voluntary. Necessary. Automatic. They are leased too. Each breath and every second of every breath to a lipgloss facade.
A thread that does not bind, is my hair, left loose in the anti-thesis of its use. It is like every other accessory. Groomed for the best prices to endow itself in currencies of worship. The luminosity in my eyes and the enamel over my teeth.All will fade with the ending of this lease- that i have given to the universe in exchange for it's alchemist's gold. What worth does gold have for inches of skin and breath and luminous eyes and enameled teeth and non-binding hair? Not much as much as the lease itself. It carries the gold's weight upon it's atlas shoulders. Unto itself it manifests the exchanges. The lease wishes not to be undone. It wants every inch of every second of every inch to be a lipgloss facade.Obscene without it's sheen of processed liquid.
Existence.Is.an.affliction.
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