
There she goes again with her normal everyday rambling.
She hardly ever makes any sense.
She opens her mouth and the words fall out like a bomb dropping from Enola Gay.
Her words form sentences I don't care to listen to...
Seems the more I listen to her rant and rave the more bitter I feel.
The more I hear her speak of the world and it's unfair madness the more depressive I become.
It seems she doesn't really know how to keep quiet.
Her mouth flies open and everything comes out with no reguards.
She is quiet now as she begins to paint her face.
The only time she ever truly looks happy is when she is painting over all her imperfections.
Brush stroke by brush stroke she applies her mask.
Once she is done, she takes one final glance into the mirror and gives herself a half hearted smile.
The smile she gives so often every single day.
I watch her as she slides into her daily attire and adjusts the buttons.
Before walking out the door she turns around to glance at me.
There in the mirror we meet eye to eye...
Like every single day.
She doesn't say anything this time as she stares.
Turns around and leaves to face the world we both know is tearing her apart.