So I am trapped.
In an office cold and small,
and there is nowhere to go but back.
He escorts me. Jaw line as if chiseled from ice.
He is the definition of power. The room crowds;
With beautiful faces and magazine adds that seem to leap off the walls.
I sit quiet. Hands folded in my lap.
Wondering what awaits me.
And finally, thirty-five minutes later, she emerges.
With bleach blonde hair and a California tan.
Hair tied into a loose bun, and breasts, that even under a sleeveless black turtleneck blouse, want to escape.
Her limbs were stick thin and if it weren’t for the tan, you wouldn’t have been able to tell if she was emaciated or not.
But she was the definition of beauty. And he created her.
It is surprising how someone can manage to break your heart into a million pieces in a matter of minutes.
Hopes and dreams mean nothing to those people.
For they are unforgiving.
And life, is a cold industry.


------------------------------------------------------------------------ pt. 2


So I am trapped.
In a red hallway, with a key around my wrist, waiting.
With my future ahead of me – and she stands infront of me.
Blocking the path to my freedom. Just like the last time.
With a tall, pretty girl by her side. But nothing more than a copy;
A miniature version of herself. But the origional is worn, and there is nothing standing between herself and my own. Not anymore.
For those false breasts are sagging, and so is her smile.
But her clone still blocks my path. With her plump lips and her perfect height – she sneers down; and hands me a pile of clothes.
For I am still beneath her- and she knows it.
But she is nothing more than a copy of an idealistic world,
one in which I am apparently not a part of, because in her eyes,
i do not exist. And when she leaves. . I will still be stuck in this hallway,
speechless.