Stronger at her weakest.
She takes a shower with burning water,
until she feels her body in flames,
takes the sponge and scrubs her arms,
turning the pale skin to red,
from the blood of cleansing too eager.
She fills the bathtub with cubes of ice,
strategically, so she can feel the sharp pain.
Sinks her head until the background noise,
is non-existence.
She gasps for fresh air, but she has to underuse.
Her body can take that and more;
like how she burns the cigarette on her ankles,
and play with the flames of the lighter.
She was built up for the pain, she says.
Her whole being is an ashtray,
that can deal with hypothermia and burns.
She’s stronger at her lowest,
sharp objects don’t scare her.
She tressures them.
She can give a kiss to a loaded gun,
not for the adrenaline, instead of for the lack of it.
She’s feeling numb, something must work,
she rather feelings than dullness.
She portrays the ideal smile when she hides her apathy.
Two ponytails and tons of glitter on her eyelids
can disguise the sarcastic and witty way of her speech.
When she talks about everything and nothing,
she’s too bright to let someone know what’s going on.
A sip from an iced coffee and a delightful look,
no one could ever know the truth.
She’s high most of the time, but she has it under control,
even though the valium still tastes under her tongue.
She’s a piece of work, a puzzle, a liar.
She’s everything and nothing.
