Insert: prose digression

I don't feel like myself today; a skin shedding was due yesterday at 4 and I was 15 minutes late for my appointment. Everybody else had already gotten their skins shed, waxed, polished, refurbished and glistered up for a clean new countenance. A fresh countenance, I suppose you can say. And I missed that chance--a chance to keep up with the trends and the latest ensembles that mean so much today and mean so little tomorrow. No, the opportunity wasn't so much a necessity to my being. Not so much as others beg the need for a fix--this fix, to keep up with life in the pace of change: styles, fashions, language, medication, personalities, music.

I feel like I deliberately forced an immunity to these "re-creations". A breach to the system. Yet, I still feel a tinge of morose from an unforeseen cause. Sometimes I wonder if I should acquiesce to the current and pick up a new face. Perhaps then I will feel more entertained and "inside" with the others. I wonder that.

Or perhaps I am pensive because I cannot relate to the "skin shedders". And, because of that, I am cloistered in my bubble of "immunity to the system". The ability to forego the change.

And sometimes, I just wonder about that.

Vacant scene:
I looked through a looking glass
and saw what I would have seen--
a tete-a-tete taking place at the coffee shop
next door to the university; an engaging conversation.
(You can tell the difference between captivating,
meaningful conversation in these occurrences.)

I can't remember the name of the shop
(funny, how I used to go there all the time).
A vacant dream it seems; that I've forgotten
something that had used to be "me".

conduit -
–noun

1.	a pipe, tube, or the like, for conveying water or other fluid.

2.	a similar natural passage.

3.	Electricity. a structure containing one or more ducts.

4.	Archaic. a fountain.

sycophant -
noun:

1. A person who attempts to win favor by flattering people of wealth or influence; a parasite; a toady.

She seethed in rage;
she merely looked back inquisitively--a blank face.
She lunged for her--cracked her open with a bat,
beat the shit out of her 'til her blank eyes rained onto the floor;
yet still she was there; the emotionless stare.
She chided her for her mistakes:
Ugly! Filthy! Rotten! Good-for-nothing bitch!
A cold blade impaled her delicate countenance.
She looked at the glass on the floor;
she continued to stare back at her,
cloistered in the lonely bathroom upstairs.

The mood

I just want to lay here with you:
Myself and Twilight's Twin.
And we'll converse freely,
sans probing wire boxes or squashed mini-TVs.
And every time we meet,
you'll smile at me with your shiny silver teeth,
glistering in every occasion;
and you'll wink at me with your pearl-shaped eye--
a sight that moves me to a stardusted sigh.
A peaceful, pensive sigh.