dirty balletmy arms are sore.
i don't remember why or how they got that way.
my head is hazy and confusion seems normal now.
this constant queeziness in the back of my stomach seems to be a permenant fixture of my being of late.
the black tights that cover my legs are ripped and showing particles of my raw and bloody flesh.
i look at my dress in the mirror, whats left of the once glamourous and frilly white frock i was wearing is shreds of fabric barely covering my cold and quivering skin.
chunks of tattered and brittle hair are laying on the floor boards underneath my feet.
the skin under my eyes is a deep grey colour from lack of sleep and what seemed to be never ending tears.
i wish i could remember what happened, why i woke up with cuts on my arms and bruises on my neck, but i guess its a mystery until my mind is in the right state.
i wish i could be a litle girl again, in that ballet class i used to love so much.
i remember doing a concert dressed in a lipstick red body suit and dancing my he