Each day goes by, and each day, a piece of me rots away.
It could be anything today; my heart, my brain, all four limbs, or my lips.
My face could shatter into thousands of pieces, or my lungs could fail, and I could choke on air.
I have very little left of the women I used to know.
I am hideous.
I am a creature writhing in agony, begging silently to be put down, and sent out of this misery.
I used to be beautiful. In my vanity, I painted a picture of myself; hair like wild fire, eyes like a crystal stream, and a stainless soul. Now, this picture is thinning out with all I ever knew, and soon, I know it will vanish entirely.
As the night comes, I wrap myself up in a cocoon of memories, and fall fast and steady to my death.