poison ivy; tom riddle

iv | amaryllis

Magic mirror on the wall, do you think me fairest of them all?

Darkness bleeds underneath my eyes from restless nights, pacing, waiting-

Waiting for you.

I bite the dead skin off my lips, catching the flesh too harshly.

Pomegranate red oozes onto my bottom lip like ink. I somehow think you'd like to kiss the blood from my lips so I leave it there.

My skin is paper, a barren pale, desolate of growth. I pinch my cheeks and watch rogue blush and then fade after a few minutes.

I sigh as I coat my eyelashes in black.

Will you find me the fairest, Tom?

Will you still love me if my lips bleed onto another man?

Olive stands behind me, her fingers thread through my curls of chestnut.

You look lovely. Olive Hornby has a timeless beauty, one that could be considered ethereal through each decade. Her cheekbones glow golden in the sunlight, where mine shine a dull light.

Is that why you're neglecting me? Because my cheekbones do not not shimmer golden? Is that what you truly wish for, my love?

Her hand falls just beneath my shoulder.

Painted there is a yellowing bruise on the brink of fading away.

It is in the shape of your hand.

Brown fingertips embedded beneath my skin.

I shrug her off and find a pearlescent powder in the back of my dressing table. It's not golden like Olive's skin but it matches my necklace. I pack it onto the tops of my cheeks, particles falling into my eyes like snowflakes.

I blink and smudge my mascara.

Black stains under my eyes, once again and I want to cry.

I just want to be perfect for you.