Kamey Jade McNamara
Pushed out. Right out. Forever tunnelling. One swarm of disturbance congeals her emotive appetite. The repetitive herd of questions refuse to be ignored. "What's the fucking point?" she screams out to the cold room. The only company is the echo of her screams.
No comparison, she assures herself, to how it used to be. The solid frame and the staggered jabs are no longer tormenting her. The only bruises on her now are just mild evidence of her clumsiness.
The dilemma of the confrontation and the fear of the pain stop her from seeking the answers. The wickedness of other's minds grasp her tears and drain them from her eyes. "That's one teardrop too many," she sternly says to her reflection. "You have hollowed my face. You have conquered my imagination. You have triggered my hatred.
My heart grows violent with every thought of you. I despise the freedom you can feel, the smile you can conjure, the lack of remorse, the lack of apology, the lack of fucking love for your own child." Her grip on the mirror is shaking the dressing table and causing her to sweat. "Why do you do this to me?" she wails. "I suffer enough."
Her flammable venom is once again deterred. Her entry into the outside world has once again arisen.
Her shaking hand once again wipes her face and claws at her winter coat. Her ruby lips are dull and mortified. Once again, time will distract her.