Phantom

Trapped in a room of perfection.

Walls painted white,

Fingernails painted black.

Listening to the noises

From the road outside,

And looking through the window

At her own life.

Slash.

Her nails scratching at the glass,

Like blood underneath stitches,

Desperate to get free.

Now she might as well be a phantom.

Backing herself into a corner of blame,

Starting over isn’t an option.

Drained from always being the enemy

Of everyone who loves her.

Paranoia intensifies

But there’s no escaping yourself.

Going through the motions

Isn’t good enough.

Breaking out of this skin

That she’s become so used to.

Inhale. Exhale.

Breathing is the first step.