She’s only human and there’s nothing extraordinary about her,

                Except the fact that she’s dead and nobody knows.

Lying in her grave she awakes every day,

                Wiping the decay from her wrenched eyes hidden from the sunshine.

She paints foundation on her face to hide her melancholy aura,

                And dark wings around her eyes to make her look alive.

She practices her smile in the mirror. Teeth, or no teeth?

                Believable? She doesn’t know.

She walks down the hall with her head held down slightly,

                Like deviled hands anchoring her to the ground.

She hears a group of girls laugh as she walks by,

She tries to tell herself they’re laughing at something else instead of her joke of a façade

She sits in lunch at a crowed table full of her “friends”,

Feeling fake love and forced connections.

In the bathroom she stares at the stall door,

                Waiting for the ominous bell to ring for the next period.

At the end of the day she walks home

The foundation and wings are wiped away, the smile turns into a frown,

                And she enters her grave again.

Mourning the return of day.