There's crusted blood on the cement from the night's misfortune, her downfall. Averting my eyes, I walk past without a second glance.

No one is around to notice the alcohol on my breath or the uncertainty of my legs.

My pockets are empty so I search the street for cigarette butts.

Lipstick stained or not, nicotine calls. And the air smells too new for my taste.

The wind chills me enough to shiver and I hide in myself for warmth, like a turtle in it's shell, my mind is unseen and untouched

I wonder if they see the same girl that's in the mirror. The girl that's bleeding to death as we speak.