Outside looking in.

The mirror is a porthole into the past

As I look for the signs of what I got up to last

Yesterday's hangover fills my eyes

The external sadness from the sore goodbye's

Hair that's pleading, begging for mercy

'I'm so dry why'd you have to go and process me?'

Little tiny holes indistinguishable to most

All that remains of a piercings ghost

Although I'm taller it's apparent to me

I'm still the vulnerable girl I used to be...



My reflection is the scrapbook,

Portfolio of my life

From a shiny surface, I can see time.