I have my hands on the edge of the sink. Arms only thing holding me up. Per usual I’m the only one that can hold myself up. Looking in the dirty mirror all I see is a girl with bags under her eyes. Hair brittle. Make up residue smeared on her eyes.
Life drained from her.
Almost like the confronting moment when you’re at a bar & go to the restroom. you’re confronted with the happy mask you’re holding up. with the silence that makes your ears hurt.
Except no alcohol or substance is running through my system making everything euphoric. Dark and beautiful.
Now it’s just dark.
My glass that was half full. Is slowly being drank. Once in awhile it gets filled a little bit. I convince myself it’s still half full even when confronted with the glass.
I still imagine it half full. The illusion is wearing off. Not even I can deny how low the water in the glass is getting. What happens when it’s gone?
Hopefully when the time comes. I won’t have to worry. I’ll be long gone by then
About the Creator
Scrub
welcome to my mediocre monologue
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