(I)
shards of glasses lying all around
like a pseudo labyrinth that has wrapped itself
on the dusty walls, creaking floor boards and mouldy cupboards
with it's rough, crassy texture
swallowed this room, this bed and me.
(II)
the medicine cabinet starts overflowing
for the stack of medicines and syrups
and ugly tasting capsules
fill up the space,
the aura/room/my insides
with sickness, scarcity of life
and the absolute need for a bowl of hot soup
like mom used to make.
(III)
scrutinizing myself in a "43×13" mirror
i find myself dressed almost like my
favorite princess, like the one in the story books
with long, chestnut brown hair, big blue eyes and
a dazzling smile that always ends up winning the prince's heart
"almost" because i don't look half as charming and suave as she did, as they all do
everywhere, in all the storybooks, in all the shows
(IV)
i see cellulite dripping from my arms, eye bags falling from my face, almost repulsive tummy rolls, unable to withstand the sight of beauty im so used to not seeing,
my shoulders stiffen, gut tightens
and i can feel squirrels greeting me,
jumping, scraping & scratching my insides
like an old friend, playing between my ribs, crawling up my throat, strumming my fingers
as i struggle to let go of the monster I've just witnessed in the mirror
the shell of a human being, picture of whom deserves to be in a wanted poster
with hideous background and an equally hideous face.
(V)
drenched in the smell of nicotine
with half bitten nails and yellow fingertips
eyes sunken inside the socket, pale blue lines coloring my face and frail bones,
i pick yet another pack of cigarettes,
take a long, comfortable puff
and let the smoke sit on my face for five seconds
before it dissipates into thin air;
the only form of touch I've been allowing myself these days,
and think,
"how could life get any better
than almost drowning in a semi sized bathtub with a glass of róse"
(VI)
half eaten vegetables and shredded paella
is what decorates my plate
the sauce spilled all over and the pizza crust half smashed, half gone;
i sit in the middle of the table, feeling more
like a vessel of a person than a person itself.