quicksilver
you look in the mirror, nose almost touching the glass. i watch as the lead becomes molten and the mirror slips away, running into the marble counter. you are left with the wall, and your hands. your face crumples but there is no one there to see it - why are you still crying?
it is moments like this that i hate you the most, when you reach up to your mouth and feel your split lip.
self pity will get you no-where. i'll do it again - i will never let it heal.