Status: finished.
With a Little Decoration.
.oo1
She enters the room like a bomb blast. She enters the room, and we all turn to look. We can’t help but look, it’s like the moment when you hear a gunshot, and you have to see where it came from and who fell victim to it. She was a bombshell, truly gorgeous. This is the moment that changed my life, but I can’t honestly say for the better. No one would define this as better.
It’s a funny thing to consider, that my life was destroyed so instantaneously, in such a seemingly insignificant moment, with such a seemingly insignificant glance.
You see, at first glance, she was all dressed up in her lies that screamed, “I’ve got a life.” With her eyes that screamed, “I don’t care.” She was as glamorous as she was fatal, and she wore her beauty like a badge of honor.
She was, in her own right, a bullet of sorts. However, unlike normal bullets, she had no single target. She was more like a hollow point, in that she spread her destruction in every which way and as it tore out your innards, your soul, yourself, the last thing you ask is “How long until I disappear?” She infected everyone around her with shrapnel of her desolation, a lingering ripple effect of her disaster.
While we were all affected by, or more infected by her, I was predominately intoxicated; she made sure my life went by in a whirlwind of parties, clubs, rich men, and their fancy cars.
She was only irresistible to make sure that when she inevitably went down, she sure as hell wasn’t going alone.
Now as I sit at this vanity, fixing my face, lying about who I am – what I am – I know that tonight, when I enter whatever bar is on my itinerary to infect some poor soul with my disease, my curse, the whole room’s eyes will be on me.
It’s a funny thing to consider, that my life was destroyed so instantaneously, in such a seemingly insignificant moment, with such a seemingly insignificant glance.
You see, at first glance, she was all dressed up in her lies that screamed, “I’ve got a life.” With her eyes that screamed, “I don’t care.” She was as glamorous as she was fatal, and she wore her beauty like a badge of honor.
She was, in her own right, a bullet of sorts. However, unlike normal bullets, she had no single target. She was more like a hollow point, in that she spread her destruction in every which way and as it tore out your innards, your soul, yourself, the last thing you ask is “How long until I disappear?” She infected everyone around her with shrapnel of her desolation, a lingering ripple effect of her disaster.
While we were all affected by, or more infected by her, I was predominately intoxicated; she made sure my life went by in a whirlwind of parties, clubs, rich men, and their fancy cars.
She was only irresistible to make sure that when she inevitably went down, she sure as hell wasn’t going alone.
Now as I sit at this vanity, fixing my face, lying about who I am – what I am – I know that tonight, when I enter whatever bar is on my itinerary to infect some poor soul with my disease, my curse, the whole room’s eyes will be on me.