-a self portrait-


It's beginning almost to feel like
the way it was with him.

It was about this time of year;
late November,
wasn't it?
I can't feel my toes,
but maybe I should be wearing socks.

I keep forgetting,
and the cold isn't so bad after a while…


The questions I ask you feel forced,
and desperate.

Sometimes I feel that I know myself
even less than I know all my friends,
and you,
which, come to think of it,
isn't very well at all.

Or maybe I just know them too well…


Sometimes, I make pretend that
my name is Audrey,
and I paint my fingernails scarlet.

Audrey doesn't know me.

Audrey is lucky.

Audrey can laugh without feeling like vomiting herself up,
and screaming herself raw inside.

She lurks on the other side
of my bathroom mirror,
and smiles at me sometimes.

But sometimes she doesn't.


I'm thinking of letting myself be Audrey more often,
because I doubt she'll end hurting you
in the way he knows I will.

And I know you'll hate me for saying it,
but I'm sorry…

(notes: I'd like some constructive critisism for this one, as there were quite a few things I didn't like but didn't know how to fix.)