Don't look at me.

My mask is broken,

and the tears are spilling out.

Please, do not look.

My eyes give away the demons in my heart.

They want to be seen,

by the thin white lines on my skin.

They punish me for my faults.

I laughed too loud.

One cut.

I'm ugly.

Two cuts.

I'm fat.

Three cuts.

Four.

I don't deserve to live.

Five.

Six.

Seven to ten.

Do you see me now?

Eleven.

I am broken.

Thirteen.

I am the definition of

IMPERFECTION.

Sixteen.

Now you see me.

Twenty.

Are you scared?

Thirty.

Disgusted?

Forty.

You're locking me in a white-walled prison with no escape.

Fifty.

You think I'm crazy.

So do I.

Sixty.

So, I ask this:

Do you still think you know me?

Seventy.

One hundred.