• i heard that hiding was the worst
    and there was nothing worse than hiding
    but what you hide can ruin you inside

    and for every cut and bleeding wound from the fiberglass substance of secrets there is the sick satisfaction of keeping it all in. how much fiberglass can i fit into my body before it starts to tear through my skin? and when it tears, how much will i have to get rid of to keep everything else i have inside? because fiberglass soaked in blood; i pretend it doesn't cut as bad, i don't bleed as bad. i've bled like this before, i said to myself inside my head.
    but the scars aren't healing, aren't disappearing. i've stayed up days and nights pouring bottles of the stinging stuff inside my wounds. and then it hits me. i'm pouring from the outside, when my cuts are inside, and i drink the bottle dry. and i feel sick.
    the mirror shows a gaunt and sallow figure staring back with hollow eyes that hide secrets, but i can see the fiberglass filling up, behind the hollow eyes. and there is my window *SMASH* and the right half of the mirror is right in my right eye, digging, scraping, pulling strings and puffs of fiberglass out of my hollow eye. and the other stares impassively at the mirror half that's left.
    i bleed
    i drink
    i stare
    and i don't care, i guess, i'm full up of fiberglass
    that's how i stayed alive like this.