Lost

Lost

I have lost touch with myself
Barely feel me in my own skin
My opinions are not my own
Borrowed skins stylish trends
I copy donning vain feathers.

My attire reflects my attitude
An acuity of emptiness
Vapid valleys of half baked notions
That beg fruition
In similitude of perfection
Your understanding coveted craved
And such a
pulchritude of rotting
Semi decayed ripeness
In the very germination.

Slow steadfast surety has been forsaken
Faddish and mad march hare leaps
Of faith undertaken
Glib logic which turns coat as often
As you could wish.
And the world's eager as I
To please
And wishing chair activists
Gnaw well flavored wish bones
Dry and dessicated
As the dead valley of dreams.
Read the Kadish for my kind
We are surface activists peeling
The orange rind...
Unraveling desecrating devouring
Without appreciation or satisfaction
And everyone and everything may appear
As you like it to be seen.

So I'm not important
Even to myself
You can fashion me as you will
And do me over at
Makeover parties
Eliminate me at -sleep over parties.

The clock chimes
Midnight...
Rats rule from pumpkin coaches
and Cinderellas
Fish out oil tycoons and hedge fund heirs
Without looking at the mirror.

And if you did peep
The charm wouldn't reveal itself
To be this witches brew.
For honesty was never portion of
Magic potions, in age old cauldrons of
Infamy.

Talk is cheap
Tongue grows stiff
Caulked with caution
Forked by treachery.
Cheeks hurt stretching
Into rictus smiles
Waxing.
Waning.

I.
Have lost myself.
Wonderland awaits.
The false world  of Oz.

(c) Amrita Valan 2016