She walks with her head held high,
But what's missing is the spark in her eyes,
Her heels click and her jacket shines.
The hair is so perfect and so is her smile.
Mirror staring back is the only witness
All she craves is less of this bitterness
She powders her nose and pinches her cheeks
All smiles for the camera when the girls say cheese
She feels an itch, but she cant scratch it
Her body aches but still she dances
She laughs loud and pretends to care
She has to be strong because she cant cry
Tears just don't come to her eyes
A drag of her Malboro
She is good to go
A conversation snippet here and there but she is too lost in her mind to care. Her cigarette's ash falls on the new dress. She doesn't give a damn because its not real. If it burnt her soul, she would feel it, but its just the clothes and she has more. She notices, when they notice her not noticing the burn, and quickly calls herself clumsy.
How much can make them enjoy her company? Its all an act and it may just be the final scene. She doesn't belong in her mind, let alone here. Why are the lights so bright and the girls with too much makeup?
Casually, they remind her,
You're one of us and not a stranger.
She doesn't know what more to do, like a ticker on a time bomb, her head is ready to explode.
She is not afraid to say anything on her mind, yet at times she is tongue-tied. That's who she is and has always been. But is she still that now? All she wants is to let go and live free but she is a prisoner inside her own body. A faint scar under her chin, her fingers touche it and move back to flip her hair. Its like her brain is playing games with her.
Not a look, not a murmur
Not a single one around her can know it's back
Her eyes scream but her lips curve up
She is scared, so she keeps it locked up
Laughing so hard, it makes those tears finally come to her eyes. She covers them up by calling him funny. He takes a bow and asks her to dance, she politely refuses and points to her friend.
She is afraid, her soul will slip through with her jokes and laughter. It is a strained cry of despair.
The night is young so she shuts herself off, pretending, again this time, that this is where she belongs.
But she needs to save herself, before she falls down again because now she knows it's only herself messing with her head.
