She moves forwards into his arms, craving attention, craving his love.
Craving justification for existence.
He laughs, cruelly.
Steps back, and she falls.
She falls through the ground and through the sky and through the feelings she has for him.
He cackles now, takes a long deep drag from his cigarette.
She hits reality harder than she ever thought possible.
She bleeds from the mouth.
Tears up, cries herself to dust.
He turns away, flicking his filter into an empty coffee can outside.
She looks up at him through angry eyes, full of tears.
He shakes his head, walks away under an endless sea of neon signs.
She tries to chase him.
Her legs are wobbly.
She falls again.
This time she falls for real.
It’s not worth it.
She falls past reality and into disbelief.
And finally realizes how she’s been used.
For sex.
For comfort.
Whatever she took from it on her end.
Wasn’t given or taken on purpose.
She crumples up and blows away in the wind.
Eventually coming to rest somewhere far.
But she’s never able to completely pat those creases out.
So she gathers up what strength she has left.
Howls at the moon.
Becomes a demon.
Twists her way into the mirror.
She.
