I STAY CLUELESS

I look at the mirror. All I want to do is to punch that glass which is mocking (once again) insultingly of my ugliness, shatter it into little pieces and with them turn my face into a bloodied pulp.

But I cannot. Weakness has left its mark on me. Maybe eating as much as a hummingbird (in order to keep a silhouette I've never had nor will I have it, and because of that permanent lump in my throat I've tried to swallow unsuccessfully) has something to do with it. Or maybe it's the lack of sleep. All I do while I'm in bed is crying, the second most tiresome-giving activity you can do in a bed (and I'm not even contemplating the realization of the first one, thanks). But not even after hours and hours of effortless sobs my tired body can rest. I called them effortless because I don't need to struggle much to bring tears to my eyes.

I just don't recognize the person I've turned into. I never was quite confident, that I must confess, but I wasn't locked into myself as much as I am now. Who's this unsure, ugly, stupid girl with dull, swollen, red, teardrops-shining eyes who looks back at me when I cast a glance at the mirror? I used to be so pretty… now I loathe myself, truly and deeply. Who'd love me, looking like I do? I should be so charming, so mesmerizing and so intelligent that no one could live without me once he's talked to me, and I obviously ain't. So, what chances do I have?

And then again, all ways go to you. You were so kind and openhearted I bet you'd have loved me if I told you what I felt (we shall not forget that horrid blonde bitch who made your second wife). But alas! How dare I, the scum, the scoria, put my looks so high? How dare a mistake, a biggest imperfection, look at the perfect, golden, shining angel (I'd better say god) you were? I should've been blinded by the lighten aura that surrounded your perfection, but alas! , you turned your eyes on me and smiled, and when I awoke from my faint I discovered that I had been caught in the vulgar trap they call love, and in which I swore I'd never fall again; that something was missing, and that was my heart, which no longer belonged to mine, but that you took with you as leaving.

So now I have to kneel on the floor, to put together again the scattered shatters of my heart, but you know what? Some, the most, are missing… yes, as they were buried in your skin, in your eyes, your smile, your kindness… and now how am I supposed to rebuild a heart if the most important parts are nowhere to be found? What am I going to do? I stay clueless.