The beautiful dream is dead. It’s been dead for a while but it’s finally caught up to you. Your tragic radiance followed in your wake as you left your trail of victims who wanted you no more. You were run down. Dried up. Time for a better life. You can still be someone.
Your perfectly poised delicate beauty was a stark contrast to the New Orleans streets your heels got caught in. Shaky hands opened the liquor bottle to help your nerves. One’s the limit, you told yourself on your third pour. It’s just the nerves, that’s all.
Loss follows you around like your shadow- silent and ever present. The last person you have in the entire world is not even happy to see you. Her other half sees through your battle armor that you so carefully put on every morning. It’s beginning to crack and you know it’s only a matter of time until it shatters. The bottles begin to go faster and faster.
You try to drown out the tick of the clock with the whir of the fan. It doesn’t work. Just another constant reminder that you are failing yourself just as you have failed everyone you have ever known.
You’re spiraling. Your tiara weighs heavily on top of your head. It matches the rhinestones in your dress perfectly. It matches the glassware too, you laugh to yourself as you fall to the floor. You decide to forego the glass and just grab the bottle instead.
The years have not been kind. The pressure has been building. But you are becoming a diamond. There’s beauty in your breakdown. The magic you so desperately long for resides in you. It’s hidden in your descent.