I felt the need to stare. My gaze was unforgiving. She sat in her pity. Her cloud of destruction. She looked at me. I felt the need to gauge those eyes from her face. It disgusted me. Her smile was cocky, and unrightfully so. Who was she? She invaded this space. She took my normalcy. She tried to make herself perfect. Dotting every eye, and splotching every T. Her skin was too pale. It made her look sick in the sun. She was a ghost, the living dead walking among the far better beings of this earth. She was the ideal crowd-hopper. She didn't fit with any one clique, but all. She disgusted me. I reached out to grab the tools she had been painting with only to discover my hand hit the window. But oddly, hers did too. Have I been watching her through the other side of the mirror? Or has she been watching me?
Then I saw him. He saw me. His arms ran gently down mine. It was a gentle, but heartless, touch. One that tried to make me miss him. One that made me wonder why I went to see him. My chest hurt. My heart hurt more. His hands touching what was his. Marking what was his. Taking what was his. The fire in my lungs burned. But not just from my lungs, not just from my heart. But deep inside me. The fire burned. I left. The painting I spent time and money on ran down my face. But I didn't care.
My cigarette fell to the ground. I let it go. It'd be one less moment I'd have to drown in either the smoke, or in those who seemed to care. Confusion set in. Who was who? Who was the lie? She became me. She became the driver and I became the mirror. I was Jane's ******** Insanity.
She looked past me in the mirror. She looked at him. He stood there with that grin. He knew she'd be back. She was always back. She was always left alone in his house at the fault of her own hands. But she expected a Prince. She keeps forgetting this isn't a fairy tale.
 Made27 · Thu May 26, 2005 @ 08:46pm · 0 Comments |
