the basil effect: enter dorian

Before me, there is a man:

A stranger, created by the romantic dance of a mind’s artistic arm. 

Preserved, 
he remains 
beautiful, 
innocent, 
alluring.

He smiles when I smile, He 

smirks when I smirk. He 

cries when I cry, He 

breaks

when I break.

He has my mother’s wide smile, the gleam of my grandmother’s amiability.

My father’s deep set eyes, the sign of my grandfather’s wisdom. 

He has my youth 
my passion 
my vitality:

My 

single, left dimple, 

bushy, furrowed brow.

High cheekbones, 

That ever craved pedomorphosis.

Alas, regardless of the uncanny resemblance,

He is not I:

My eyes are full of hate,

Full of regret.

my features mutated by tragedy.

My cheeks are now hollowed, 

my eyes darkened, 

my mouth turned down in a permanent frown,

evidencing poorly cloaked misfortune.

Who is this man?

For he is not I: 

a man birthed by the destructive grip of society’s arm. 

July 2012