Self Image

Everyone is gone. The silence in her room is louder than ever before. She can hear the dying screams echoing in the dark shadows; hitting each of the four walls like a boomerang lost in space.

The ground is littered with other peoples' possessions. Their discarded memories that they have no use for anymore lay scattered; ike she does. She wears them like stale-smelling old hand me down jumpers. The walls are cold and tired of keeping her secrets hidden.

The bed she lies on isn't fit for sleeping. The sheets torn from the matress are stained from nights she has chosen to forget. They haunt her like the sting of a slap. They burn through her like ashes being dropped from a cigarette onto her naked body. They scream names at her in voices of scolding parents and teachers.

She has grown accustomed to the dirty stench of sin that suffocates her dreams, just as she has learnt to understand the accusing pointed finger reachin from the silence around her.

There is a rhythm she remembers - Back and forth. Pride falling to shame. Her shame thrusts into her as she lies motionless, emotionless. Faster and faster she is made aware of the pain that will soon become a deja-vu. She can feel a strength cover her mouth so she can't breathe. The smell of rolled cigarettes invades her mind. Faster still. She knows the control only too well. She feels herself filled with the rush of warmth and the room grows still. The silence grows loud again. She doesn't smile.

She shows her image to the door again and locks it twice so she can't escape. She doesn't have the energy to wash these memories away. Instead she slips into a t-shirt from the floor and sits in front of herself at the dressing table. The smoke rises from her cigarette forming words of disgust. She says nothing.

She runs the grey eyeliner under her eye hard enough to feel it ripping at the skin. She adds another coat of mascara to the lashes she hides behind. She applies lipstick to her lips without wiping away the dirtied paint already smeared across her mouth and chin.

Lying on her bed - legs shaking and hands trembling she stares at the ceiling thinking of nothing. The silence is deafening.