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My mannequin sits on the train, but he refuses to look back at me.

"Look at me," I say to myself.
Look at me.

He doesn't look back

My stop.
Touch.
Touch.
Brush.

I brush by him, hoping he'll at least acknowledge me.

He doesn't look back.

White.
White.
Hot.
Ow.

Pain stings white hot as I slash my wrist dangerously close to my palm.

Slash.
A splash.
Crimson.

Another tally. He doesn't look back.

My beautiful mannequin. So cold and stiff.

Perfect.
Perfect.
So perfect.

Again. He's there again. And again.

And again.
Again.
Always there.

Thrown forward, the locker slicing three lovely scarlet lines on my face. Forced on the hard tile.

Freak.
b***h.
Die.

But my mannequin doesn't see. He wont look back.

What happened
to your
face? he'd ask.

It was an adventure, I'd say.

Tortured princess
fearsome dragons
a cold, perfect prince.

But he doesn't look back.

Black, black, black.

Polish.
Clothes.
Hair.
All black.
White.

My perfect mannequin wears white.

Don't hurt me.
Don't hurt me.
b***h.

Slammed and pushed. Black to red. Don't hurt me.

White.
White.
White.

I want to be white.

But he doesn't look back.

(I gotta go, so I'll post more laters. Tell me what you think! ^^)