Eyeshadow

She puts on her eyeshadow.

"I'm too pretty for suicide," she says,
"but I don't know how to live in this world.
When I walk in a room, my friends sneak out."

Her mouth and eyes are wide open
as she applies the shadow to her eyes.
Does anyone look at anything
in a mirror but themselves?

"The one thing I won't do is apologize."

She goes out and dances alone
and when the boys approach her
she twirls away.

Most nights she doesn't say goodbye
she just disappears,
walks 20 blocks home, barging
past 20 blocks of people,
the cold rain smearing her eyeshadow.

"Fuck'em. I don't want to be
a pessimist. I can't change
who I am."

She puts on her eyeshadow.
She slit her wrists once.

"Somebody stole my whole life.
I'm not sure who it was.
It might've been me."

She puts on her eyeshadow.
She never listens.
My words bounce off, sweep around her.

"Sometimes I know I'm the worst person I know.
Other times I think I might be god."

All of her real friends
are dead. That's the only
way it can be.
They sing her lullabyes.

She puts on her eyeshadow.
Some people worship her.

I don't know what I'm doing here.