She smiles as she walks inside her little humble home, dead silent her friends wave their Goodbyes. Quiet. The floors creeked under her heels. So dead. So quiet. At times the creeks pleased her, making the girl feel a little less alone as she had her creeky home to comfort her as she lay awake in bed, just staring at the ceiling.

Of course she was greatful. Why if it wasn't for this rented heaven she would have been sleeping the night out on the cold streets. Having a roof was a blessing.

She sat down in the grey twirly chair in front of the vanity bedside her empty bed. A bed for two but only one ever slept in it.

The chair to, greeted her as it turned to face the mirror. She looked into it and almost cried just then. Fake. All fake. From the beautifully done hair and the popping cleavage, barely being held back by a thin piece of blue cloth, to the crooked ankles trapped in tall prisons.

She had been out with friends partying till two in the morning as she usually did. Eye liner and multiple layers of foundation disguised her eye bags and saggy lip line. The woman was oh, so tired. Of everyone's shit.

The worst part was she was addicted. The little amount of dopamine the days out gave her. The compliments. 'Oh your so pretty' 'such a doll'. Sure they felt nice for the moment but after that moment she felt just as Dead Inside as before.

Hours of blank smiles, empty faces, dry voices. It's fun! She insists as she digs deeper into the habit. She grins showing her teeth in a meaningless expression of fake happiness, a cheek rub, an soft grind even. Anything to get her mind off the fact she was SO FUCKING ALONE. LOL.

The days fun but at the end of the night the make up seeps into her skin, her feet aching from the paining shoes she CHOSE to wear. Appearance. So very important to her. Anything for a little 'your so pretty' or an 'Oh, what a sweet girl'. Her eyes red and puffy now from crying. The tears ran down her face, dragging all the make up down her chest, unzipping, the front of her tight dress. The bra made to keep her breasts up and perky left red lines around her waist.

So painful just to look nice. But fuck did the compliments FEEL GOOD! It made her happy for the moment and that's all that mattered. Dancing on the tongues of people who noticed all the hard work she put in. At the end of the day her body hurt her heart hurt. She finished removing the poison she wore, stripped little to nothing and layed down in her bed, tucking in herself. She often pretended it was someone else is the sad part.

The girl cuddled a pillow and tucked her legs into the fetal position, sobbing her woes into the tear stained fabric. Tomorrow she will do it all again. The next, the next, and the next day as well. She was obbsessed feeding into it just for the littles of human touch. A voice. A touch. A tongue on her neck. Anything. Anything for that electric feeling.