Thank you India Hobson for the photo
It steals us away,
just like the old-ones used to believe.
Every click leaves me less of myself,
adds more of what you need me to be.
See how pale I am, how near
to the surface my veins run?
My skin is thinner and thinner,
my self so over exposed
that soon you will no longer
be able to see me at all.
Sally J Blackmore's Blog 
Excellent. Very emotive. You write a good story of someone on the edge.
mmm…i like this one…you convey much in this short verse…there are those that believed or maybe even still that it takes a little of ones soul
I think it may – in a certain frame of mind I can look at photos and wonder what the camera may have missed, misunderstood, or, dare I say it, stolen from its subject.
Thanks for reading and commenting.
I’ve decided I want to feed her cream cakes and plump her up a bit after reading this…:)
Good idea…
Thanks for reading my offering.
I like how your poem reveals the loss of authenticity through the perpetuation of images of the real thing. Nice infusion of the myth too.
thank you …I really would have liked to spend longer on it, but maybe it says what I needed , short as it is. Thank you for reading and commenting
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