Evaporation

The scissors gleam in the pale glow of the lamp. The towel is pressed against the crack of light which may creep through the door. She works at a maddening pace: she snips away, first her torso and then her face. She whittles away at the flesh and fire. The metal pierces the skin of her cheek but no blood will flow for she is cold. Every passion ripped to shreds, eyes vacant, and stomach hollow. Looking in the mirror there is so little left. She can see this but cannot stop herself from taking just one more swipe. Just one more, again and again; she repeats the phrase until her breath is shallow and the insanity has waned. She peers again into the looking glass. She stares for so long but can see nothing. She has been erased, though she was never there. She does not weep, does not despair. The pain is gone and she is pure as air.