Alone I whimper in the dark, shedding salty tears to run in tiny rivulets down my face.
I wonder if they'll erode my skin with minute crevices?
Do they laugh as they ski down the slope, or are they loathe to leave, trickling with regret?
Shall I miss them, once they've dried, leaving simply their chemical trail?
I'll not give them a chance to dry away--
Dab, smear them; I care not.
Just get rid of them, those shimmering beacons of disgrace.
Weakness winks from each glistening drip.
Be gone! They cannot see me this way!
They must see me the way I wish to appear:
calm. composed. in control.
Not crumpled in a corner with a Kleenex in my hand.
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