the lights. the sounds. the sights. the shimmer. the flash. the glimmer.
as she puts the finishing touches to her face, she purses her lips so that the glorious red of her lipstick spreads evenly between top and bottom lip.
perfect.
her skin, flawless. no doubt with the aid of beauty products, but still. flawless under the lights.
the dress, a most dazzling piece of art by a renowned designer. it fits her to a T.
with her matching purse in her hand she steps out of the limo onto the red carpet. people know her, know who she is. or at least they claim they do. with her occupation she's understood. chatty, confident, cheerful. some of the many adjectives assigned to her based on what people understand of her job.
the teenage girls in front of the TV whisper to each other about how they wish they were her and giggle uncontrollably at the thought of dating her exes.
she walks down the carpet, stopping for pictures and interviews.
but with every step, her foundation cracks a little, her lips chafe. the diamonds fall from her neck with a slow comedic effect. the seams of her dress burst thread by thread.
yet at the end of the walk, in her immaculate self she turns to wave once more. not a single hair out of place, with a smile as radiant as the sun.
tomorrow is another day, she tells herself. tomorrow is another day.
tomorrow is another day to do this all over again. all over. all over. again.
tomorrow is another day to not live up to today.
Everyday, she kills herself slowly with perfection.
Entry @ 1:59 AM;
Friday, July 24, 2009