Pretty like plastic, and just as real.
She walks the halls like a shadow of who she was. The bags under her eyes underline the expression in them; her appearance is rumpled like she never would have been last year. She is tired, and everyone can see. She drags him down, and he lets her - doesn't even fight anymore, because he thinks he loves her and thinks she loves him.
Her spirit drags like the hem of good jeans; it's crushed like a Terry's Chocolate Orange. We watch, and wait, because she pours her energy into her mask and someday she will burn out, because you can't put all of yourself into something without imploding.
Her lies will catch up with her, and we're waiting for the day with a mix of deadly anticipation and horror.
Her spirit drags like the hem of good jeans; it's crushed like a Terry's Chocolate Orange. We watch, and wait, because she pours her energy into her mask and someday she will burn out, because you can't put all of yourself into something without imploding.
Her lies will catch up with her, and we're waiting for the day with a mix of deadly anticipation and horror.
posted by Elizabeth at 2:53 PM
1 Comments:
We used to try, used to laugh with her, used to cry with her. The person she was would hate the monster she's turned herself into. She's dancing the road of denial, on a path that only leads to failure. One day, one day she will see all that she's done to herself.
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