Entry Three: Pretty, but Cracking Beneath the Flashes

Whispers around town didn't scare me. Labeled as delusional. In every photo, every post—I was breaking. 

Thoughts & Confessions Turned into Verses

I took the pill to feel better,
took another because I didn’t.
I lost track of how many times I said,
“Just one more.”
Made bad decisions like fashion statements.
If I was going down,
I had to make sure the lighting was flattering.
Crying, then reapplying the chapstick--
it’s called balance.
The party was no longer fun,
but I didn't know how to leave.
Champagne bubbles kissed painkillers on my tongue--
another Hollywood love story.
Did they love me,
or the tragedy unfolding before their eyes?

Penned in the Glow of the Mirror

Something about the soft rattle of a bottle made me feel like I had control—even when I didn’t. Pop one for the anxiety. Another for the sadness. I mistook the camera flash for validation. I thought if I posed just right, it would capture something real. 

I became a statue in my own disaster. A boy frozen in place, beautifully breaking. Posting photos in the middle of spirals, because if the lighting was good enough, maybe no one would notice I was unraveling. Maybe I could scroll past my pain the way everyone else did.

I’d hit “post” and wait—not for help, but for hearts. For proof that someone was still looking. That my reflection still mattered. I didn’t need to be saved. I just needed to be seen.

And even if it was artificial, even if I was crumbling offscreen, at least the image stayed perfect in a gilded frame, as I began losing pieces of myself behind every polished pose.

Whispers around town didn’t scare me. Labeled as delusional. In every photo, every post—I was breaking.
And they had a front row seat. They didn’t see a cry for help. Just another reason to judge. They watched me unravel like entertainment. I survived it like it was a war.

I documented the destruction myself. Became my own paparazzi. And somewhere between the captions and the collapse, I became content, forgetting who I was.

They made me the punchline for so long, I think they forgot I was ever a person.
That’s okay. Now they’ll have to watch others clap for the comeback they never saw coming.

Xo,
Paul 

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