A/N: My other fanfiction, Misa's Diary is making me like Misa a little bit more. She seems a little bit more human and less Misa-Misa like. Misa-Misa's are not human, they are Misa-Misa's. I don't like Misa-Misa's, I like Misa's.

Not like that you perverts. Review!

Disclaimer: I am not a Rihanna fan, never really have been. However, this song really suits Misa. I don't own it, the lady with the crazy vocal range and racy videos owns the rights to this song.

Passing the unmoving blank walls, moving towards the door. Her eyes a surface display of monochromatic numb spectrums, the door seals off the frigid lance of his seeming omnipotence. She does not, with a hesitant hand, illuminate her tseudo-sanctuary; the irony doesn't miss her, instead nearly assassinating her screen of serenity. Once again, the laughable prospect of her relaxedness takes a dangerous swipe into the shining surface constructed as a guise. The infrared cameras provide the darkness an iron, to which immediate use is made to flatten her pride and smooth out the imperfections of feeble contradiction.

Take off my shirt.

Loosen the buttons and undo my skirt,

Look at myself in the mirror.

Pick me apart piece by piece.

Sorrow decrease, pressure release.

The dim light from an alarm clock is illuminating enough, imposing a feverish red tinge to the full-length mirror leaning against the wall. The weight drops with her clothing, and she turns around to face the intruding angel adorning the screen of reckoning; the bane of her existence. A moment ceases progress, and they regard one another. The intruder seems stained with the digital glow of the clock's shifting numbers, but the shifting does nothing to lessen the alterations of the perfect replica. Recognition draws back it's fist from the first blow dealt. Then, as soon as she is struck, she retracts and begins re-assessing. Long blonde hair is down, loose; like her own. The figure is slender, curvy. Like her own. Breasts are full and round, legs are slender and long, and the face is a shield of incomparable beauty unmarked by pencil or ggloss—just like her own.

I put in work.

Did more than called upon; more than deserved.

When it was over, did I wind up hurt?

Yes.

But it taught me before a decision, ask this question first.

Who am I living for?

Is this my limit?

Can I endure some more?

Chances are given, question existing.

A/N: I didn't do the whole song for a reason. I don't like the song very much is the first reason. The second reason, because I can't be angsty for very long. Third reason… I didn't feel like finishing it. Maybe I will edit in a few months and change it… but we'll see. Do review. Flames will roast my marshmallows.