Mulch to lips. Inhale. Slowly....deeply....staring out at the ice on the windows.
Whoever knew being alone could leave you so numb?
Perfectly flawed faces. Strangers. So dangerous and yet so soft. Letting them in...
...hoping they'll feel the moment as strongly as you are.

But who can recognize another's reasoning for falling so low? And how dare you ask...the audacity, to question why I let myself hit rock bottom and begun to dig.
I've lost the life.
The self.
I lost her, before she even was a 'her.' Old enough to be gendered, but too young to even be called a baby. 24. Hating the mother. Hating the mirror and the face that stares blankly back at you, too tired and too worn and sunken in to be your own. But it's ok. Even the sun has to fall. And each and every morning, it drags itself back up from the depths, clawing up the sky with its brilliant tendrils of light as it strives to once again rule the sky.



But I'm not the sun.
Merely a face.
And if memories make the man, well...

...then I guess I'm nothing more than smoke and lipstick.

---

Done in 2012
© thelxlbloodlxlprince