Imperfect Figure

One minute I'm smiling, like the world is perfect and I know where I stand.
The next I'm breaking, with tears falling like rain, drowning my smiles.
Unsure of my footing, or if there is even ground beneath me, stable enough to hold me.
And I fall away, useless to the world, with the beating of my heart silenced by the cries I scream to no one.
I start to cut, start to bleed, start to believe in something more than life, and wish for nothing more than death.
Then I stand up straight, wipe my eyes.
Hide my cuts, clean the blood.
And let the world revolve around me, so perfect.
While I stand holding my flaws in the palm of my hand for the whole world to see.
They can judge me all they want, and let their opinions reach my impure heart.
For I am everything they believe me to be, nothing of worth or value.
Pleading for someone to hold my hand and piece my fragile soul together with love and forgiveness.
I grasp at the edge of the world, scared to lose my existance while wishing, for one instant, it would happen.
Remembering the days when I stood smiling.
Wishing I could smile again without being torn down by depression and unwanted fury.
The pain and the lies, the loss and the gain.
The tears and the blood.
They prove nothing but weakness, and I shine in the midst of these failures.
While the tears slide down my face and the blood drips down my arm.
With this crimson surrounding my imperfect figure, I find where I stand.

Alone.