Protect me from what I want.
The pressure to belong is everything. Isolation; the fear and the threat underscore each action. I don't know what that woman wanted, but I know she wanted it badly. To risk being caught in the act of writing those words - standing in front of the mirror in a nightclub's washroom, lipstick in hand - is a step.
A step towards freedom? Maybe. A step towards isolation? Surely. And yet, the words are there. The guitar ninja recognized them, on some level. She knew they meant trouble. The gin took care of the rest. Sweet oblivion. I saw her today. There was no recollection in her eyes.
The lipstick woman isn't so lucky. She has crossed the line. She has faced the fear; the threat. No substance can bring her back. Where is she today? I don't know. One step closer to hell, wherever she is.
If you have something to say, feel free to send it to me or write it in my guestbook. You can also have a look at what other people wrote in my guestbook.
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