there is something beautiful about a sad girl who stands staring into her own soul,
leaning hard against a mahogany mantle wondering how quickly gravity would take her if she let go

clutching onto something solid reminds her that she isn't lost inside some ****** up dream,
that the twitchy movement on the edge of her peripheral vision isn't your ghost ready to bridge the then, there, and in between

yesterday's masccara leaves the perfect hangover smudge, and wild curls turned stale frame a face ridden with gloom,
sadness and beauty compliment each other so well, she looks herself in the eye and decides to say forever locked in this room