I find myself chasing the art of the Sad Girl,
You know,
The creative, ominous, ambiguous vibe that She puts forth.
That mystery that continues to run wild in the moonlight.
My how I've mastered her at such a young age, and continue to chase her through my lows.
She's such a beautiful mess- one that I understand so deeply...
One whose words cut like razorblades across a mirror- etching in the word "Hopeless"
What a pretty little mess.
But she's not as cute and airy in your thirties... and probably even less cute in your forties... but damn, she always seems to look good.
Am I seeing her right?
Whiskey lingers on her breath,
Her chest gets red,
Xanax slows her breathing,
Mascara smudges under her eyes...
She pinches her thighs- imagining she was just a bit thinner.
And her eyes...
Those eyes...
Crave light.
