True Beauty

You flick the switch and on comes the bulb. You sit right down in front of the mirror. The light hanging above reflects on the surface and then back at your face. You squint a little until you find a comfortable spot on the little chair. You open the little black box that's locked in the top drawer. You look at yourself and you huff. Your chin clean shaven. The light is glowing from behind your bald head. Your blue eyes staring at someone else's blue eyes. You're staring at a stranger.
You apply the mascara onto your eyelashes. You're doing it with such precise accordance that you could have easily been doing them one by one. After you've counted your eyelashes in the mirror, you put on the smallest amount of eyeliner. Just enough to mount your bright blue eyes, not so much that it makes you look like a whore. You get out the blusher and you put a small breath of life back into the milky-white cancer-paitent cheeks that go so well with the ghostly complexion of your whole head.
You kiss the air and apply some red lipstick. Holding your pose just long enough for the paint to dry, and then you relax and smile at the mirror. You're halfway there. You open up another box from another locked drawer and you clip on your earrings. You slide on your ring. You go over to the cupboard. Inside is a white mannequin's head. You bring it over and in front of the mirror you slide on your autumn-red wig. Already brushed and ready for the world it will never see. You look at yourself in the mirror and you know you look beautiful. You know you do, and you know that only you will ever know it.
You play with the polaroid camera for a little while. You shake the little square in the air and examine for a second. You still find it funny how this little stolen image will always be more real that anything anyone could ever see with their eyes. You sit down in your chair with a glass of white wine. Curtains drawn and front doors locked. You dance with yourself to the music on the record player. Dancing alone in the middle of the room. You spill the wine as you glide through the air but in your mind your in some huge palace at a grand gala ball and everyone is looking at you. And everyone is thinking how beautiful you are. Everyone knows how beautiful you are.
And your eyes open as the needle skips the disc on the player. You fall back into your chair, take another sip of wine, and fall asleep. You know how in the morning it's back to slacks and ties and reality. No one will ever know how beautiful you are.