They’re afraid of me.
I don’t blame them.
I can see it in the pooled reflections of myself in their hollow eyes of fear.
A deer in the headlights, frozen and still.
Cold as ice etched onto a window pane.
The pain, the pain, the loneliness and sickle tears streaming from the eyes.
They fear me… and I can't control it.
Smile as crooked as a grandmother's frame,
Not a lot- but just enough to notice it.
Eyes bright and twinkling of Christmas lights at midnight,
Beautiful at first but annoyingly present as time drags its feet.
Skin placid and smooth,
A fresh wall of paint, that bores one as they watch.
My nose just a thimble shaped nuisance
A soft mouse point centering my rodent face.
Chin, a gentle curving wave
Of sand upon a forgotten beach where no lovers footprints lay.
Hair a layer of deep ebon sheets
With the wrinkles and crinkles the fabric can't release.
My dress simple and white,
Laced with spider webs and beaded with tears.
They are afraid of me,
And I don't blame them.
Because I'm supposed to be dead.
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