She often wondered if she would be happy if she was perfect
If her skin smoothened out into a golden hue of perfection,
And her body slimmed and curved in all the right places
If her fingers were never bloody from stress
And her thoughts never wandered to the knife
She often wondered if she would be happy if she was perfect
If her anger never got the best of her
And her tongue never spat out scathing words
If her mind turned off every now and then
And her laughter was never stolen away by worry
But she knew she wouldn't be
Because no matter what she did or how she twisted it,
She was hard and cold
She was frozen
And she was addicted to the drug of it
I... have nothing interesting to put in my author's note.
Uh... I love you guys?