Adara

A word that has cost me more duress than any physical trial.

The word rakes across my mind, leaving angry red scratches in its wake.

As I stare at my body I feel the murky water seep in

drip

drip

drip

It corrodes and swallows

Weakening my resolve

Will I ever be complimented?

Will my face ever have the delicate shape I ache for?

Will I ever be enough?

My mirror holds no solace as the only comfort it can provide me is an unflinching look at myself.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

But the beholden holds no mercy for herself.

She cuts straight to the bone with eyes like whips and nails bitten to the nub.

Loathing flows,

feeding off the mirror and the windows and the walls of the room.

the bookshelves.

Its starts to pool at her feet

She is left to confront it

The room is flooding and she doesn't know how to swim.

The murky water is up to her knees.

She feels the drops on her head.

The ceiling is leaking.

There is nothing to do but wait.

She feels the water in her lungs

sloshing around

burning her nose

draping her in its uncomfortable silence.

Her mouth is just above the surface

barely breaking the surface tension.

She gasps. . .

flails

panics

and

lets go.

The water rushes above her head,

as she looks into the inky blackness

she realizes its much easier to sink

and succumb

and wonders why she hasn't done this sooner.

Her eyes close

in a quiet kind of consolation.

There is no way to float with a weight tied to your foot.