Asghar Abbas's Blog - Posts Tagged "gothic"
IN THE BOUDOIR INT
What if during one of those nights where everything is heavy and still, holding their collective breath waiting for something to happen; something's gotta give, right and you are looking in the mirror. Here in the little of that night, you are brushing those long hair of yours, those tresses shimmering in the teal of moonlight tonight. They gleam in the tight grip of a blurred moon that is becoming increasingly frenzied, its caresses maddening, the color of your hair bringing out the moss in your eyes. The gloss so vivid your dreams cannot help but borrow its zeal as they burrow inside someone else.
You look on into the mirror, moving and then seeing yourself move. Almost reveling in the motion of yourself. Your heart doesn't but you certainly move about, every limb flexing and unfurling, the skin of your lies opening up. Then you swing a little, movements jerky and erratic but otherwise normal, average, below average like you. Till you catch something you were meant to, but it didn't really register because you are not very smart, so you twist again. You move but your reflection does not. It stays still. You smile in nervousness. Not really worried yet. Your reflection smiles back, just a nanosecond later - with anticipation. Startled, you are staring openly at the Baroque mirror now. You look across the sea of glass. And you see your other self not moving at all, the expression on both your faces not matching at all. You are wary but she is wry.
Amused but not really disbelieving nor afraid yet, you lift up your right hand your wrist curving up at its ascent. Your ghost lifts her left hand. You wiggle your fingers. She copies you, but she is deliberately a few seconds slower. You wave at her, confined inside the mirror she has the audacity to wave back at you. Mocking, you blow a kiss at her and It just glares at you now. This is no longer fun for her. Feeling giddy, victorious, you point your index finger like a gun at the polished smooth shiny surface of the mirror, cocking back your thumb like a hammer, you mimic firing at her exultantly; after all, you have won, yeah?
You hear the muted laughter and you look again. The girl on the other side of the border of glass slowly moves her forefinger across her throat, making the motion of skulls and bones, of universal poison, of love, of cutting and all your reasons fall from you like the autumn trees, stripping you bare. And now you know you can get wounded from thoughts with subtle hues; you are a gunshot victim, victimized by faux slitting of the throat by your shadow.
Desperate now, you try distraction next. But you are worse at this kind of sleight of hand, you don't have any bag of tricks; you are handicapped by your own giving nature and you hold no wild cards. You try to distract the grinning you in the mirror by flapping your arms, undulating them like they are wings. But you are just a sprig of your own nightmare. The two of you watch this charade, both of you pretending that you are escaping but only your heart is fluttering and fluttering away it does. Now you are a bird but, baby, you ain't flying away anywhere any time soon. You are just busy being mocked by your betters. You are going nowhere and nowhere is where you should be.
Then you realize it was your reflection that was moving you all along all this time, your reflection impelling you into action and not the other way around. After all this time, you realize your lie and the dreams it weaves and now you are wrapped up in spiderwebs of your own sincerity, where everything makes sense and that's how you know just how insane this is. You brew your unhappiness, you reflect your own reality. You are loved by your own excuses. We are fools by choice after all. The leaden lies that we tell ourselves are far worse and monstrous than any false images the mirror could show us. The reflected you smirk in the mirror, It knows your lie, It resents your ignorance. It resents you.
And she wants to hurt you. The smooth sheen of the mirror ripples and she moves out from beneath your skin. Then the you in the mirror smiling with the purity of first-time joys freezes you in your place from across the river of glass, gelling you into a frieze that cannot be shattered. That refuses to shatter. Oh yeah darling, I badly want her to hurt you bad.
Marooning you in this stillest of forms, she leaves you holding steady the night, whilst you wait for the day that will never come. Nor come again.
You are effectively abjured. You are her reflection now, enclosed in the glass bordered by the beautiful Baroque frame.
It was only a matter of time before your reflection turned and went against you and now she has.
Now you are her ghost. She is the one who gets to move away from the mirror at her whim and will. She does. Bang all you want against the frames, scream yourself raw, and you do. All to no avail, you do, but she moves to attain your world anyway. You are good and attained, you are done.
Now you can live in her world while she inherits yours.
You sleep with her nights now
while she mounts your days.
And unlike yours, hers is not a weak ending.
You look on into the mirror, moving and then seeing yourself move. Almost reveling in the motion of yourself. Your heart doesn't but you certainly move about, every limb flexing and unfurling, the skin of your lies opening up. Then you swing a little, movements jerky and erratic but otherwise normal, average, below average like you. Till you catch something you were meant to, but it didn't really register because you are not very smart, so you twist again. You move but your reflection does not. It stays still. You smile in nervousness. Not really worried yet. Your reflection smiles back, just a nanosecond later - with anticipation. Startled, you are staring openly at the Baroque mirror now. You look across the sea of glass. And you see your other self not moving at all, the expression on both your faces not matching at all. You are wary but she is wry.
Amused but not really disbelieving nor afraid yet, you lift up your right hand your wrist curving up at its ascent. Your ghost lifts her left hand. You wiggle your fingers. She copies you, but she is deliberately a few seconds slower. You wave at her, confined inside the mirror she has the audacity to wave back at you. Mocking, you blow a kiss at her and It just glares at you now. This is no longer fun for her. Feeling giddy, victorious, you point your index finger like a gun at the polished smooth shiny surface of the mirror, cocking back your thumb like a hammer, you mimic firing at her exultantly; after all, you have won, yeah?
You hear the muted laughter and you look again. The girl on the other side of the border of glass slowly moves her forefinger across her throat, making the motion of skulls and bones, of universal poison, of love, of cutting and all your reasons fall from you like the autumn trees, stripping you bare. And now you know you can get wounded from thoughts with subtle hues; you are a gunshot victim, victimized by faux slitting of the throat by your shadow.
Desperate now, you try distraction next. But you are worse at this kind of sleight of hand, you don't have any bag of tricks; you are handicapped by your own giving nature and you hold no wild cards. You try to distract the grinning you in the mirror by flapping your arms, undulating them like they are wings. But you are just a sprig of your own nightmare. The two of you watch this charade, both of you pretending that you are escaping but only your heart is fluttering and fluttering away it does. Now you are a bird but, baby, you ain't flying away anywhere any time soon. You are just busy being mocked by your betters. You are going nowhere and nowhere is where you should be.
Then you realize it was your reflection that was moving you all along all this time, your reflection impelling you into action and not the other way around. After all this time, you realize your lie and the dreams it weaves and now you are wrapped up in spiderwebs of your own sincerity, where everything makes sense and that's how you know just how insane this is. You brew your unhappiness, you reflect your own reality. You are loved by your own excuses. We are fools by choice after all. The leaden lies that we tell ourselves are far worse and monstrous than any false images the mirror could show us. The reflected you smirk in the mirror, It knows your lie, It resents your ignorance. It resents you.
And she wants to hurt you. The smooth sheen of the mirror ripples and she moves out from beneath your skin. Then the you in the mirror smiling with the purity of first-time joys freezes you in your place from across the river of glass, gelling you into a frieze that cannot be shattered. That refuses to shatter. Oh yeah darling, I badly want her to hurt you bad.
Marooning you in this stillest of forms, she leaves you holding steady the night, whilst you wait for the day that will never come. Nor come again.
You are effectively abjured. You are her reflection now, enclosed in the glass bordered by the beautiful Baroque frame.
It was only a matter of time before your reflection turned and went against you and now she has.
Now you are her ghost. She is the one who gets to move away from the mirror at her whim and will. She does. Bang all you want against the frames, scream yourself raw, and you do. All to no avail, you do, but she moves to attain your world anyway. You are good and attained, you are done.
Now you can live in her world while she inherits yours.
You sleep with her nights now
while she mounts your days.
And unlike yours, hers is not a weak ending.
