Nail polish remover

Sometimes we don't realize just how lucky we are. We bury ourselves deep in the negative puddles of shame and ignorance, and forget completely about the silver lining sitting beside us on the porch steps. Beauty may not be clearly seen all the time, but we should understand that it's always there. Whilst happiness is right under our noses, we refuse to look. We're always looking for something else; perfection never seems good enough to please the human mind.

Allow yourself to ask the complex question as to why she isn't good enough; why you need her while she would be loyal to you and keep all the promises she ever kissed your hand for... why she can't compare to the 80 pound strip club queen with silicone breasts and an a*s that could shatter glass. We drink our red wine and toast to the beautiful. While we're drunk, we'll forget about reality. This is perfection, what we crave. When her sex won't do it for you, the alcohol sure as hell will. Fixing Barbie's hair and smothering her face with scum is your favorite thing next to screwing her, isn't it? Keep it on until her lips are filthy red and her eyelids are caked with electric blue shimmer screaming "w***e!" This is better than the love she gives you. You aren't willing to look further into the sweet girl next door because the liquor, wine, and alcohol take advantage of your fake mind. Keep reaching out, babydoll, you won't be noticed until the strip club shuts down at 2 am and you have nothing else to blame your problems on but her adorable little face. She left candy on the table and a note that said "I miss you," but it didn't stay on the plastic piece of s**t long anyhow. We're all angry drunks, you know. Sweet victory is simply the satisfactory of seeing her cry. The ink of the note stained by the remaining water left from the broken vase on the floor is so sweet, so painful. Those flowers are nothing but memories now. Apologies are written on the walls in crayon and you're hoping she won't see them. We are relentless murderers. Nothing about human nature can be helped, even with the largest dose of medicine.

The media is constant competition -- teen against teen in the race of fame. Teen angst pumps through the veins of the weak-minded as they attempt with all their might to be the most beautiful, the most loved. Oh, it's fine. Keep screeching at each other in earnest -- it'll get you somewhere on the metric scale in time. Bulimia wears the crown of exposure. The fight to be the perfect object we're all looking for is manslaughter in itself. It's ironic, really. We're all trying to be what we're looking for, yet we can't seem to find it. In reality, the rain-drenched girl with a clean face and timid smile is beauty in compact form. The prize of attempted perfection is far from solid gold -- a scarred throat, acid build up, clogged pores, burnt hair, skin cancer, unhealthy weight, and no love. Perrfection isn't as perfect as it seems; but we'll keep trying. We breathe perfection. That's why we get lung cancer.