she is me
arms rested on her chest
a cross made purely of flesh— the gaps between them filled
with ruffled white chiffon
seeping red
skin pallid and cold
but eye makeup still warm and wet—
maybelline and revlon dance down her cheeks.
my eyes burn as i try to picture her
at 8 in the morning
and i try to, so hard—
but i can’t
she’s a mirage
clouded by the laughter around me—
people who only think of her as a fool
i run out of the room
breathing heavy
stomach flipping
place my head in my hands
grip my hair and sob
because she isn’t a fool
she is troubled
she is in pain
at the mercy of her mind
just like me