Zarasisters3

     There is nothing wrong with a look at what I paid for. The colors and makeup combining to create a mirror image of whom they think I am. My eyes bright, my cheeks full, chin defined, but my lips are invisible, not to be seen.     ‘Give us a smile,’ they say, ‘let us see those eyes light up’. I can never smile, not here, not ever.     ‘They will flock by the hundreds to see you smile’ they say, ‘you could have any man you wanted if you smiled.’ But that’s the game isn’t it; as soon as I give in I’m done for. Who wants someone with no mystery?

They tell me that the voice in my head makes no sense. They tell me it makes me crazy. I tell them it is a comfort. It understands me. I have been prodded, been in rituals, and been prayed over, nothing has gotten rid of the voice it has only become louder. It tells me what to do, how to survive. The voice has made me the person who I am now. The others don’t understand the voice. It is wonderful and is my only hope of not drowning in a pool of my own blood. They say that the thing that spilled my blood in the first place should not help me. But the voice is comforting and loving, while they are hostile and disturbed by me. F

The starting point is honesty, is something that was once said. However, honesty varies from person to person. Omitting parts of a whole truth can is honesty for some, none of what they said has been fabricated, just simply, not mentioned. To another, the truth is to have everything out in the open, every little, gritty detail that they think they saw, what they thought they heard. Even if they misinterpreted the facts, aren't they telling the truth? Even the man who's every word appears to be a lie, is telling the truth. In his head, there are a thousand different universes and a million different worlds, and somewhere, on one of those p

I am empty and yet I feel everything at once.