She couldn’t do it.
She couldn’t stand smiling until her crescent moon eyes stayed permanent.
She couldn’t stand spending five hours perfecting her innocent makeup.
The sweet silky voice turned into a raspy voice, a voice of someone who hadn’t slept for days, even weeks.
The angelic smile turned into a straight flat-line.
Not one of sadness, not one a happiness, one of numbness.
The perfect glowing makeup which had taken hours above hours to prepare was wiped off onto her sleeve.
Dark circles daring to look like a black eye were seen so far down below her eyes, like her eyes melted down.
I need help!
She screamed at the top of her lungs.
The only shining thing on her body were her tears glistening down her face.
Her tears in which she had kept in for so long, hiding them behind her velvet voice and bright smile. She wasn’t a happy girl.
All the times she had asked for help, you passed off.
All the times she begged for help, it just wasn’t important to you. Because at that time she was a happy girl.
What is her label now.
Depressed freak.
Girl who can’t keep her tears away.
She wanted help, she never wanted to be labeled as a happy girl. She tried to keep her image nice and clean but the happy girl is never stressed or depressed.
The happy girl is happy.
Her image didn’t need help, her appearance didn’t need help.
She did.