she is a beautiful lady:
nowhere would you find those sapphire-lit eyes, like whirlpools that drowns every ship.
her body is a compact maze of enchantement and elegance you'll find yourself lost in for a while.
there are none of her touches that you will not find electrifying as she playfully tugs at the back of your head whilst running her fingers down your spine.
but she is not the lady everyone sees. she is not the person you would imagine crouched in the corner of her room; a razor in her hand and blood out her other. the woman naked in front of the mirror, sulking, grim, and depressed. the girl in the bathroom with pills in her hand, the days burgeoning like those white salvations in her mouth. there is no room for anyone in her heart, only pain and anguish.
we see a portrait, but the paint's wearing thin and the empty canvas beneath it is starting to show.
but what can we do?
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