It's not odd for me to stand in front of the mirror at 3:00 in the morning.
Trying times--
Early dawns has found me here every dying night,
Almost.
And the thick air has become so familiar that it just stays still,
Watching me struggle to heave one breath after another while staring intently at the mirror;
That wholesomely shiny mirror.
But somehow, all that I manage to see is a broken face of a broken girl with so much broken memories.
She makes my eyes sore.

Now if you do find my early morning activity strange,
Here's a fact:
I am waiting for the devil.
I am waiting for his horn, his giant fork, his evil tail that all screams blood--
I am waiting for hell.
I have long been praying to have a conversation with Satan.

I want to present myself as a humble sacrifice.
Partly to die,
But not just that.

I'm kind of hoping that if he does take me,
I'd ask him to dwindle my mom's troubled soul a  bit.
To make her mind much less anxious--
Enough for her to sleep soundly at night;
I'd ask him to give my dad an unbothered ego,
I'd want him to think more about himself;
I'd ask him to have my eldest sister come home again,
And to heal my other sister's wrists,
I'd ask him to teach my brother how to fall in love--
I'd gladly be on my knees, begging,
For him to make them forget how cruel the world is.

I promise to burn worse than hell to give these people a bearable lifetime.
And I know I'm not worth much,
But desperation feeds evil--
Mine would make the fiery pit combust with the worst kind of swirl.

Perhaps, this is the devil's one-way ticket to salvation.

So if you do see him,
Tell Satan that I'll always be waiting.
In front of the mirror.
Before dawn.