Am I thin enough yet ? It’s a question I ask yet I ignore the answer, for the only one who can truly satisfy the answer is me. And I will never be thin enough. Sure I am good, but not good enough for anyone but my own eyes, and even then they deceive me . I know the feeling , I am not the biggest , yet to feel unworthy in your own eyes is to feel the pain of a million knifes.  I have a love that keeps me here and it is situated in my heart, but what can love do if the heart does not beat. It will keep me here and I owe that love but then I fear to love in case I prick the rose with my thorn.  
     I have my makeup and my masks each beautifully drawn upon the day , but what can masks do if the skin below is cracked and dry from tears of pain ? What deep blemishes can the shadows hide , from which the pain leaks when ever the mask is dropped. What lies beneath the smiling faces, the worn out laugh and the devil eyes, what lays within my soul minus a battered hope and a distant wish?
          You walk me to a room full of people yet my head tells me the room is empty , the people are mannequins standing among a crowd. They are made of shiny plastic the smiles are on the face. The eyes are blank and drawn like no-one controls the brain. They are all beautiful of course in the  way in which they stand , but when you look closer they are all pretty similar in the old fashioned way. I am alive but who  wants to live in a world full of different ? The lonely voices echo in my head, as the dead glares stare at me. They know my heart beats but they question why. The thump in my chest is the key to the world and many loose the key. I throw the key from my body but someone saw and brought it back. A kindness that I sometimes hate.   
             What makes a child clever and another one not. Are we born with it in our genes or is it a game of luck ? Children are born with a inquisitive mind but what challenges them to grow? Do parents have the final say or does the mind already know? A child has the chances to live a life of has a chance to die. Is there such thing as innocence or is it just a phrase?  Innocence is lost by a child to young to understand what they have given up. The way in which we step into a self destructive phase is a conscious  path to follow. It can lead you to the depths of hell or it can find you your wings of fate.
          The questions are all in my head each a shiny star in my midnight mind, but which do I answer and which do I hide ? What world are we living in when a teenage girl ends her life ? What twisted fate brought a man of hate to live with the humans. What makes each of us human, once we are stripped of our bodies ? The power to know which is right and wrong or the power to make the choice ? If you take away the bones and leave just blood would it run with our families or run alone ?
          I have a mirror which I put upon my questions , and then I look into the mirror and answer myself for that way I know the course lays on my own head instead of that of society.  I think of the way I was brought up the rules in which I abide . I think of the heart ache and the agonising pain in which we live and then I question why civilisation has come to this. But then I think of the love and the laughter and I put it on the balance . For a moment I can breathe again and a mannequin begins to wave. For within a world of  plastic and masks there is a little crack in the system where the friendship begins to pay