tick tock

They told him he was handsome, beautiful even, but he could never bring himself to look in the mirror. He had tired eyes and tired shoulders and tired feet, and he tried

God, he tried

to reverse himself, to fix himself, to become anything he wasn’t. But time went on and the shadows under his eyes grew almost as dark as the bruises on his arms.

When he broke, it was messy, and loud, and undeniable (but people denied it anyway, because how could he be broken?). Every time he took a breath it felt wrong, it felt like hell, and he wanted to scream but he couldn’t find his voice. So time went on, and he kept breathing (but not by choice).

Sometimes sanity would wash over him like a wave, and he’d try again to fix himself. Like Peter Pan with his shadow, he’d try to sew himself whole again,

but things never work out like they do in the movies.

He tried to get over his fear of mirrors. He’d stare at his grimy reflection and recite mantras he’d read about in his positive thinking books – I matter, I am beautiful, I am special,

I am

I am

I am.

Should I feel better now? he’d spit at the mirror. Am I all better?

Am I

Am I

Am I?

So time went on and he got too tall and too skinny and maybe he was still handsome under all that pain, but his fear of mirrors stayed just as strong as ever.

Once the bruises covered so much of his body that you couldn’t see his skin, he started to pray; because what did he have to lose? He prayed to every god and goddess and antichrist and deity he could think of – Aphrodite, Zeus, Athena

help me.

Gaia, Artemis, Nyx

help me.

Styx, Selene, Prometheus

Hades, Satan, Chaos



Jesus fucking Christ, somebody help me.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. dogberry
    Dec 18, 2010 @ 22:20:04

    damn, you’re good.



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