Trapped. The four walls surround me, circle me, enclose me, each wall inching closer to my skin. I pull my body towards the ground, curling up smaller and smaller as the space evaporates around me.

The lyrics hum through my head. No you can't take it- no you can't take it. Every word inching in deeper and deeper. When will I escape? When I will I be free?

The door flies open and the room should open up with it, the walls should fade away forever, the light shining through. But the darkness stays. The walls are still here in my head, getting closer and tighter with every breath.

"Ashley, it's time to get started."

She smiles at me, every pearly white tooth on show, her smile stretching across her face like a shark's.

Chains tighten around my wrists and clasp my ankles as I drag my body out of the room, the metal pierces into my skin, pressing further and further into me with every step. My steps are heavy, but I have to keep going, keep moving, even if I'm still static. Even if I'm still trapped.

"Just one photoshoot today sweetie."

She smiles again. That poisonous smile. Her eyes snake over me, slithering from my feet up to my boney legs to my protruding ribs and sunken eyes. What did they expect? A healthy natural glow on a prisoner?

"Can we have make up please?"

My metamorphous begins. First my skin is painted, darkened, until I'm glistening like gold. Next I'm given a main of curls from someone else's skull. Long blonde shining curls, that shimmer and shine in the light. And smell like death. My noise is painted smaller, lips plumped bigger, lashes are glued to my eyes until I can't recognise the face in front of me. A beautiful doll stares back are me. A silent one.

"Smile sweetheart," the man coos at me behind his camera. It's always a man who takes the pictures. He licks his dry chapped lips as I am pulled into every position. The chains are so tight, I can feel myself being twisted and turned into a thousand pieces, into a hundred directions.

I think of the photographs. Of the eyes looking at me them, some praising, some judging, despising but the worst is the ones comparing. The young ones that believe the pictures. That believe the lie.

"Now the final shot, show me the money!" He's practically salivating as he asks, his eyes wondering around me, pouring into me, over me, right through me. And yet they don't see.

I think of the photographs. Of the me that's shown. Of who I am.

"Well done sweetheart," she hisses in my ear so I can feel her breath. She smells like cigarettes and stale chewing gum. I shudder from her cold touch.

"You're going to be a star!"

The chain wraps tighter around me, the weight heavy on my shoulders, I try to step forward, but my feet drag. Movement isn't possible when you're stuck. Stuck here. The quicksand seems to be pulling me down into the ground. Deep into a desert of silence. The darkness surrounding me. Closing around me.

And yet I am famous. I'm a star. The eyes recognise me, idolise me, hate me, adore me. But they don't see me.

I am trapped. The door closes and the walls surround me as they creep closer once more.