Surgical Symphony

The uneven hemlines stretched across the surface
hid the unequal distance between beauty and anguish.
Beauty, not branded, but torment equally as pleasing,
caused him to take the shade from her canvas
and leave her with the white.
On a bed made for one, she was injected with a lullaby-
soothing yet invigorating, like the sound of opera
that caused her to slumber en pointe.
The smell of surgical steel ripped through the ruffled pink
and like a physician's needle, it penetrated through
the delicate and into the deviant.
The adolescent curvature created a contortion
amongst the lips of masked disguise,
but it allowed their hands to speak
for the sentiment in which resided in their eyes.
The ladder of stainless steel, gracefully infused,
held together the pieces
of endless attempts of refinement. Confinement
within her home of satin and speckled broken skin.
The scraps of metal dismembered, remembered
like the last dance to Stravinsky
before the fall of Russia. And as they threaded
her closed like a fitted corset,
her body of flaws turned toward the avenue
of mottled shadows dancing to a song that
was the length of her scar.
In honest form, past the frame,
her beauty protruded from flesh where her mind
laid adjacent to her body's blur. And the curtains closed.

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