|
Generation X alternates |
by JenX She tips her thin cigarette into the ashtray at her side, The stub is worn; its end is pale with white ash. She brings it to thin lips enhanced with rose-coloured lipstick and inhales slowly, the ashen tip burning hotly before falling away. The air is heavy, her expression shifting through myriad emotions And she decides on disgust, perhaps to mask the pain of years Her cigarette has burned itself out And she lights a fresh one -- Smokes it quickly -- Decadence is for the weak: those who are too afraid to push away their cushioned comfort zones and break out of ingrained safety levels. She once cared - She cared too much, once, When she was soft. She imagined she was harder, And believed in her personal truth. She believed she'd lived, That she was smarter than the world That had taken such great possession of her - She believed she could spit on it, Tread over the blind fools that populated the cities, And rise as their self-appointed queen. Once she had been right. The world proved to her Just how wrong she had been. She doesn't realize she's trembling. She questions herself these days. She can't be sure how right she is today, For tomorrow may bring another philosophy That rings truer than yesterday's. She lets today slip by, discarded as useless. If she could, she would hope for change. The endlessness of days builds up, Somewhere beyond years - But hope is one of the many emotions Extinguished from her consciousness, Change is the banner touted by Idealists and fools Change - Has managed to play its trick on even her. She used to admire herself so frequently, Stopping at every mirror to inspect her Full figure and Slim waist Poured into a white corset. She would notice The shine on bleach-blonde hair Or the radiant glimmers Of life and psionics In clear blue eyes. She would emphasize her physical gifts, Secure, To win entire kingdoms. The mirror catches her reflection now: Grey hair aching and limp; Sunken, dark-rimmed eyes, Their sparkle lost. Her talents have not failed her But have let her see humanity's soul. She is tired and weary; she would not remain if she had the choice. But the memory remains: Perpetuates to supply her soul with strength, Provides her the reflection she would rather see Image of the woman she once was Instead of the faded star she has become. She can exert her control yet, Over the world that has failed her too often, And still play the games She no longer truly believes in. For if she keeps Even that much alive, The White Queen should always reign. |