Tuesday, 29 October 2013

Volume 535: Pretty

I untwist the cap.
The thick liquid inside is the same colour as my skin.
The prettier parts of it, anyway.
I dip my brush in the paint and lift it to my face.
I don't need a mirror.
I know where the ugly marks are.

Stroke by stoke I cover up the marks.
I feel it weighing down on my skin.
I cover up the past.
It's like it never happened.
It never happened.

I tell myself it'll be okay.
I'll be okay.
They say that happy girls are the prettiest.
I look pretty now.
I can look happy now.

I look in the mirror just to make sure.
And it all falls apart.
I've missed a spot.
It glares at me, triumphant.
Everything falls apart.
Rivulets of tears spill from my eyes.
They tear apart all my careful brushstrokes.
They leave nothing but the raw marks that I tried so hard to hide.
They leave nothing but the past.

I tried so hard to hide it all.
I tried so hard to be happy.
I thought it was going to work for once.
Now I know why they teach doctors not to tell people they'll be okay.
I've betrayed myself.
And it's nothing I can cover with makeup.