Eyesore

 

There is such an ugly thing in the reflection.

     Stares at me with hollow eyes and sunken cheekbones.  She is departed, cold, and so very hollow.  Like a colorless painting.  A painting that has the potential to be a work of art, but is instead a whisper of what could be, a ruined version of what should be. 

    My vision of perfection is cruel, and I have played the fool all along.  The expectations of my daydreams bury me.  Why, oh why, do I do this to myself? 

     How did I go so wrong in life?