I stand eerie befuddled on the bathroom floor, tickled pink with the mites in my hair, quietly humming my national hymn, grasping for glory but its nowhere to be found.

"Are you okay, is there something I can fetch for you," the mirror asked.  

I reply with a murmur to the sky, wasted; incomplete. Feeling defeated with plumb eyes and thorny tongue; castrated to the rear. Naked but dressed in a silk red tie; thoughts of suicide embedded in my mind.  

I've cried wolf before, so why should they come and help me now? Take blame and ownership for the chaos, which has been caused, but the river is so deep to cross. The light bruising are very visible.

Marilyn Monroe was found dead naked on a bed with white sheets. "What do I wear in bed? Why, Chanel No. 5, of course," she was once quoted.

Butterfly's happily dance above the white baby grand piano. I tossed back a shot of Grand Marnier, while enjoying a Acid Blondie cigar.  I mask the pain, illusioned with a smile.

Misery has appeared once again to celebrate my birthday. I hastily and angrily gave it the finger. I wore a sign on my forehead which read: Keep the hell away you *******!

I don't speak in tongues because I am bored and filled with deceit. I roam around in my own head aimlessly, searching for the exit sign. I stand eerie befuddled on the bathroom floor; darkness crept up!

"Are you alright in there? I need to use the toilet," the urgent voice exclaimed.

I mastered the art of silence, using it as a blocking mechanism to shield myself from annoying persons or things. I just hate loud noises. I just hate to be disturbed. To be left alone to my own devices.

I lingered around for a moment and finally opened the door to the devil himself. "Vous regardez surpris!"