All that make-up, all that lipstick,
A dolled up face, making it hard for me to brush of the ugly, to brush off the dirt.
All worn out, like a lichen.
Not a single compliment, not a damn word.
A dress filled with dirt, once worn, once seen.
Not a single partner, not a single friend.
A crooked smile, one made of plastic, making everyone cringe, and as I trip on my clumsy heart, a high heel breaks.
Hopeless, I panic with the thought of a broken heel I had been lent.
City lights brighten up, and flaws, defects, imperfections prevail.
All those stares, all those glances.
Boys, where are the boys?
I suppose my unsettling self has led to their departure, to their escape.
Whispers, battering whispers.
A relapse, leading me back to my torn self.
A supposed best night of my life has me living in ruins.
All my blues, in cohesion with my blue eye shadow, and I let out a cry, as my make-up runs down my face.
All my shine, all my worth continues to bury itself under the sand, a sand filled with abandoned rose thorns,
Filling my feet with pricks, and I hear a Taylor Swift song playing in the background, while everyone clings on each other, inseparable, leading to me dancing to myself, while my imaginary friends tag along.
A night adding more fuel to my misery, a prom night.
