this morning #19.

this morning, she woke with the sun on her eyes. ache in her hips. makeup disguise. style on her lips, the red on her face, sat right next to the place where the black attack scar took up space. the fucker was quick to lunge forth in the night before this became her new persona. for weeks, she’d been wary of making mistakes, of fumbling where she was steady, but the fucker leapt forth with the speed of a freak & ensured that the punch wasn’t missed…so this morning, she woke with the sun on her eyes, went & wiped off her lips with the tissues she’d cried in last night. at least she had eggs & milk & the like from that ill-fated trip to the store when the sun had gone down & she crossed paths with random & high. cliche as it was, straight out of the alley,