I stare into the broken mirror.

My heart beating hard inside my chest.

I look down at my shaky hands. the veins almost dark blue with color.

The world is turning, spinning.

I look back up into the mirror the broken pieces making me see myself double.

I stare into the bloodshot eyes of the little girl I see on the walls of this house.

The same blonde haired little girl, with them bright blue eyes, only now. 15 years later that three year old little girls eyes are stained red.

Not just with tears, despair and emptiness. But with exhaustion, depression and addiction.

I look down at my hands once more registering the white bottle inside my shaking hands. the screams of terror that I’ve heard in this house, in my head, for the past eighteen years. All screaming at me at once in this very moment.

my eyes start to dissociate as I’m lost in a trance of what I’ve just done. it’s too late as I fall onto the cold marble stone.

Waiting for the reasons for the terror in my mind to find the same blue eyes that linger around this broken home in picture frames.