The awakening sky is a pastel rainbow and I cannot see the sun.

I laugh, while my heart sinks and remains chained to the pit of my gut - the mirror lies and shows me someone I cannot be. That can't be me. That pale girl with death circles around her eyes and a mouth, bearing a graceful history of smiles, fixed in a frown. That can't be me.

My mind twists and threatens to cave in and my body rebels. Soon support bandages adorn wrists of hands that shake and yearn for the blade. Not suicidal. No, not me, I could never be suicidal. Just... losing faith in life. And I hate myself, so I hate people because I think they must hate me - who wouldn't?

I used to be so careful. Careful, in my words and thoughts, to always be positive, a beacon amongst people's darkness, so they could drift magnetically towards me and cure their little bit of storm with a little bit of sunshine. Careful, in my prose, to dance in time with the music that would label me as "nice" and "someone you could always talk to". Always been afraid of people judging me, so I tried my best to not displease. Waltzed, tangoed, jazz hands and hand stands and juggling - but that was always my talent. Leaving as delicate an impression on the sea of society as possible, so that when I leave no-one can portray me as anything but a petal.

And then came the day when I realized how selfish that sounds. I tore up my self-worth into a memory, watched the world through narrowed eyes and caged up my feelings until there came a night where I got tipsy and just cried and cried and cried and cried. My tears became the foundation for some other part of my self, and now I think I've created a personality: Skylar. She keeps the world afloat.

She is my pastel, rainbow sky. But I have lost the sun.