i excused myself from the chapel to have a small crisis in the bathroom

you never look as awful as you do in a church bathroom mirror though, you know that by now.
all you notice is the red and the black and the blue
and the sharpened lines about you

and your eyes have lost their color -
or your optimism is dead & leaves behind the gray without the undertones
the blue or green that comes from your surroundings
and your pupils are the points of a pin; you suppose that's the light (very cold very bright) or maybe you look at yourself and you hate what you see (very possible)

you'd be pretty if you smiled maybe
but your lip is all but bleeding

you've never seen darker circles under your eyes
and that's the exhaustion (you slept twelve hours) or you didn't wipe off your eyeliner well enough last night

you don't really hate yourself or how you look, you've never cared enough for that
you try to hate this place instead

your hands are colder than the water;
you don't cry or tear out your hair

the door slams itself shut.

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