Beauty Queen.

She’s beautiful.
Everyone loves her.
She loves it.
Being loved.
She loves her beauty.
And hates it.
Beauty is a blessing.
And a curse.
For some, at least.
But beauty does nothing for the soul.
She knows it.
But she can’t do anything.
She sleeps at night and cries.
Because she can feel herself b r e a k i n g .
Breaking under pressure.
Pressure of perfection.
Pressure of living up to expectations.
Expectations of being smart.
Popular.
Controlling.
Ruthless.
She shatters.
Breaking/into/little/pieces.
They crowd her.
Her demons.
They crowd around her, in her.
Body
Mind
And soul.
Their words and cries and wants and needs scare her.
Theyscarehertothebone.
But she can’t resist.
Can’t resist them.
They watch her.
Whileshebreaksinto/little/p i e c e s .
She is their queen.
And they are her servants.
But she doesn’t control them.
They control her.
Her demons.
They scratch at her mind, howling for release.
She reaches for that empty bottle on the floor beside her.
Shakes it.
Nothing inside.
Shecan’tfeelherbodyanymore.
She can’t feel her cuts.
Her bruises.
Her hangover.
Her high.
Shecanonlyfeelthosedemons.
As they destroy her from the inside.