Danse Macabre

I've surrendered thought for vanity time for possibility possibility for routine and individuality for perfection but how I long to wear that mask even conscious of its tackiness and tattered edges the sham of it all and learn to fake it learn to hide, disguise flaws, manipulate imperfections turn myself into someone else, yet do not fret, for I am true to you alone, although it was a deceitful tongue that told me, I the raven and you the dove you might as well have advised me to sacrifice a hand to save a finger, for these are the things I have made forfeit in your epithet, vanity my innocence, my youth, my dignity lost to those times when the mind is unquiet gnawed through with restless thoughts for longer than I has beauty been defined, bound by thread and dye pigment and illusion every woman a cookie-cutter whore to equate beauty with love no more, alas- I am now a raven, once a dove