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Feeling like this is never fun,
staring in the mirror, I see the damage that was done.
The once-white of my eyes, now all red and puffy,
and my hair, damp and stringy, was previously soft and fluffy.
My expression all wavering and weak,
looks almost as if my eyes had sprung a leak.
And noticing the foregoing sparkle in my eye,
had gone up and walked away, leaving me to die.
But I am still breathing, still alive and still alone,
looking at my reflection, and letting out tiny moans.
Glancing down at my tear-stained tee,
I ponder why this had to be me.
A sharp tapping sounds at the door, asking if I am OK,
I answer with a steady voice, "Yes, I am", but whimpering to myself, 'There is no way.'
The footsteps shuffle away, so continuing my self-examination,
wondering all this time, if there is anyone glum as me in the whole entire nation.
Grabbing some tissue straight out of the box,
I appear ill, as if I had chicken pox.
I blot my eyes, not wanting my makeup to run,
but finally let the tears spill over, thinking bitterly to myself, 'Fine then! You won.'
I spin away from the mirror, tired of my depressing double,
and slide down the wall, exhausted from my emotional juggle.
I lay my head on my knees, and sob until I'm all worn,
and slowly realizing all this time, that my confidence had been torn.
I lift my head up, and wipe my glistening face,
as some salty, slimy tears slip in my mouth for me to taste.
I focus on the tissue, still clamped in my hands,
and see the oily, pitch-black mascara that had melted like crayons.