Pallid skin, pale blue eyes, with a mask of makeup to conceal her disguise. Who am I,
who is she? I am her, and she is me. We are sadness for whom most cannot see. Pale and bright, she walked through each day as if she had owned the nights. Could this be; no, that's not quite right. The reality is her soul screams fight or flight; fight or flight! As her tears are dedicated to be filled with freight. Strolling down those cheeks, filling in her crease; for this is what she provides her inflexible soul to drink. She starts with tasting them one by one; nevertheless quickly they come. This reminds her of a beach day swimming with the sun. Except this was the day that this beautiful ocean was triggered, and pulled a fast one. She slipped away fumbling and tumbling beneath the oceans surface becoming her own prey. Hearing the waves crash against her body, still until this day. She gradually resurfaces. No longer a victim. No longer her own prey. Although it was blurry she knew in some such way that she would remain okay. Looking at the unclouded sky while glancing towards the radiant sun; she inhaled the salty vaporous air in which terms means, that she had won. she had been spared another day to continue to wash her fragile sorrows away.
-K. Bingham
