She went to take a photo on her phone the other day for her Facebook page,
when everything started going a little bit Dorian Gray.
She looked at the screen and it was blank
behind her some dude in black is doing a devil skank
and he says to her:
Why don’t you lean a bit closer
why don’t you open eyes wider and see?

She does. And in a blink her phone has synched
and there she is on the brink of a look
that could easily hook a front-page cover
make a footballer beg her to be the mother
of his kids and beep beep drive his X5.

I mean, to be real, it didn’t really look like her
was like she’d been airbrushed, buffed, blurred
but she looked good, like she should
and she wanted the comments on that picture to stack
so when the dude in black beckoned she never looked back
just walks with him to this funny little room, neon-lit flashing:

Soul Sold
Never Get Old
Soul Sold
Never Get Old

Why not? She shrugs. Worth a pop, wasn’t really sure how much soul she even got –
so she signs. And he wines and dines her with words of forever
she’s loving it but at the same time thinking whatever,
just let me get to the club, mate.

She arrives late. The place is banging big beats sweet to her ear
boys eye-slit pouting all near to her wanting to get a feel for her
what music she like, what guys are her type?

She takes champagne from each of them and when it was
time to break hearts she reached for them
took them back to the after-party then –

things begin to take a grim and unexpected turn
the young men thought they were going to learn
what it was like to sleep with a goddess
Instead, as she makes them get undressed
She takes out a knife
And carves her name upon their chests

Whilst they lie there
bleeding
Crying
needing their mums
she lies there
thinking
conniving
about how she’d like to embalm
their bums.

So she takes a cleaver
One she used to use
to chop zits from her nose
And rose, angel-faced
Bringing down a force
That leaves tissue,
red raw
exposed. 

But oh my oh my
She has no formaldehyde
To keep those hides in form
So go into town she must– 
But she stares at the blood and gore
On the floor
And wonders if the hardware store
Delivers.

It doesn’t.

So she calls a taxidermist she used to date
And says
Neil, you won’t believe how great I look –
Say I hook you up with a photo
And you drop me a barrel of
Your best CH2O. Pronto.
He agrees and leaves when
The text comes through –

He soon knocks madly at the door
wanting to see her for real.
When he does, all he can say is ‘Cooor’.

He helps her dump the bums in
Buckets of thick liquid –
Admiring the sheen of the skin
As he drops them in one by one.

He asks for some fun in return for his help
So they salsa between the blood and guts
And she tuts as he bends her back –
They hear a crack –
She screams.
It’s her phone screen.

Neil says
don’t worry
I’ve got loads at home

And with a savage tone she replies

Noooo! Can’t you see? The photo,
The phone – that’s what is keeping me
Looking like this. In a minute I’ll fall to pieces
I’ll look how I did before unkempt, unclean,
no matter how much I scrubbed
skin like mud and bad blood circulation
which gives rosy spider legs to my nose
and I even have uneven toes.

Neil remembered and horrified, started to plot
No, I won’t let that happen, how much time have we got?

The dude in black said there’s a 3 minute window
Between the destruction of the picture
And the return of my old features.

Neil picked up the cleaver.
What about this?

She’d be forever young
Forever living
Forever tight

Forever in… Formaldehyde.

She took a second, maybe two
Then with her neck bent low, said softly
Do what you have to do.

He said
don’t worry, I’ll look after you.

Neil brought down a force that
flashed tissue red raw, exposed
As her head splashed nose-first
Into the bucket thirsty for flesh to preserve.

He stared into the ripples at that picture of perfection
Then at his own reflection shimmering on top –

He blew her a kiss
And he kept his promise
.placing her on the very best shelf his workshop had got.

The boys without bums found that life was not so bad –
silicon returned to them what they once had.
Although the lasers couldn’t erase that name from their chests-
they knew it had all happened for the best
they sold their story to Heat and got on Big Brother
vowing the only woman they’d ever trust again would be their mother.

So all in all, a happy ending –

But a sequel is pending, so girls, watch out for those
dudes in black doing a devil dance –

you’re all beautiful as you are.

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About the author

Sabrina Mahfouz

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2 Comments for The Beautiful Sin

Sandra

as a poem, I like the movement, but it sounds less like ‘Dorian Grey and more like like the fairytale, "The Red Shoes" a grim, equally moralistic tale with a larger cast. In the ‘other’ story, a young girl is cursed to death for her desire to be a great dancer. Personnally speaking, I am a bit sick of women being cursed for their desires, even if it is beauty and men get their due as opposed to being the perps or ‘innocent?" bystanders. Yhe young Afgan woman on the cover of Time case in point. What has this to do with current affairs? Or beauty? Seems a bit juvienile really, "shock and awe", we do that well here in the states all you have to do is read the papers…listen to the newwwwws.

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Conester

Sandra i think ur comment doesnt make that much sense but what i do agree with is that there has been enough of women being cursed full stop. but i also think this poem does say that very point. the dude in black seems to me to be the one who is repping men in general for being the perpertrators and in the end nobody is a winner, which is the truth when beauty is the be all and end all. I like this poem.

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