I dress myself in stilted smiles, in lies of lacy webs. The person I pretend to be was never me at all. In front of every camera is the me that someone wants. I cannot tell what’s real from fake when I pose for the crowds. I leave a trail of images, no flesh, no bones, no mind. In every frame, I die a bit, my soul is calcified. It’s only good to be a headstone for my spurious life.
The only end I see for me is at the river’s edge. I’ll walk into the wet and cold with every image taken, until the river fills my nose and carries me to the bottom.
And I'll bury my soul in a scrapbook, with the photographs there and the moss.
inspired by the lines
And I'll bury my soul in a scrapbook,
with the photographs there and the moss.
in the prompt:
published in Substack:
I just discovered you can Like on Wix.....oh dear..an excuse to re-read the other ones I read...
A strong social commentary in your words there, most fitting.
I love your opening lines with a lyrical beauty you then cut to the harsher reality of who we pretend to be and the pressure of endless soulless photos. Yes, a tragic ending but I feel a reflection on our 'selfie' image conscious fake cultures. Navasola
"I leave a trail of images, no flesh, no bones, no mind. In every frame, I die a bit, my soul is calcified." A beautiful and horrible reality for many :(