Tuesday, 27 December 2011
035; Through the looking-glass.
Sleepless nights and bruises blossoming and exploding into tiny nebulae underneath my pale skin, winter is taking a stronger hold on me, overcoming me, and I feel like I am made of ice; I will crack at the slightest touch. My mind is full of mirrors, threatening to break and cast bad luck over me, but I've always been cursed and the only thing you can see inside is sharp edges and a darkness, a flat surface with much more depth than you thought possible, an endless abyss, and you better be careful or you might fall, because if you do, you'll never reach the bottom. You will fall and fall and fall. It never ends.
Trust me, I know; I am the girl made of glass.