Fabrication

❝ Lying to ourselves is more deeply ingrained than lying to others. ❞
— Fyodor Dostoevsky

i. mates rang for lunch, for parties, for money
all desiring something yet vanishing like ghosts
"you are so lovely, so wonderful" they said "we love you"
failing to be around proves the opposite eventually

ii. lads became exes, exes then enemies
a supply of never-ending issues when it came to the heart
"my darling, my everything" but one by one deceived
she blamed paranoia and nothing but herself

iii. diary pages brimming with numbers littered the floor
"i'm okay, i'm okay, i'm okay"
but the counting told a different story
and so did the many lines for each mark on her body

iv. holding strong faith that clouds would pass
a nightly reminder of new days ahead
with a promise that matters at hand would fade out
the words just tales, necessary to hold on

v. ghastly therapy filled with cries, screams, deception
flowing from her mouth with the ease of great practice
"i'm fine, really, it's merely slight anxiety"
similar sentiments whispered to a mirror every morrow

vi. concealer covered contusions covered by lies
the tears in her eyes long since fallen
cold metal blade to her wrist, softly calling
thick tights to cover evidence, perfection

vii. an abundance of flowers overflowing her room
monitors beeping, skipping, humming a tune
"why? how? i should have known"
is this what happens when you evade your own mind?