Images.

Reflections, my reflection. I stood there staring at the thing I had became, I hated myself. They say everybody's beautiful inside and out but not me. I was a mess, a disgrace even. My body is a image of the constant reminder. You don't really understand pain until your stood facing yourself in the mirror and you see a monster. Your mascara has physically dripped of the edge of your cheek from the pain of each tear you cried, from each memory that scared your skin, in fairytales it always easy to spot the villain, they were always dressed head to toe in black and they wore the scariest mask to hide themselves but in real life, the only monster you come across was the one you seen starring back at you as your reflection.