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As Good as it's Going to Get

By Camila Castillo

Outside the window, the rays of the golden sun graze the beige wall.

The coffee cup grows mold, as the weeks come and go.

My overflowing trash can leaves a shameful trail,

Along my wooden floor. My vanity is cluttered, It overwhelms me, And haunts me.

The room reeks of procrastination and apathy.

Pulling this lifeless vessel out of my bed, I walk up to the mirror. Staring back at me, a raccoon. Shades of purple under my eyes,

calling out sleep deprivation.

Do I feel like being productive?

No. But I have to survive. I have to be a human,

Whatever being human means.

The mountain of clothes on my bed,

is reaching its peak. I’ll admit it,

my room is a mess. My stomach rumbles and growls.

Whatever. No time for that. I contemplate fixing my bed, but I’m not putting on a show. There’s no one here to judge me, But myself. I’m trying my best, I say as I stare at the damage that was left as the aftermath of lacking effort.

I am lucky enough to brush my teeth,

And keep that consistent.

I apply my lotion, spray perfume, And reapply another layer of mascara. Adding some blush to revive my skin.

If I can’t play the part, I might as well look it. Right?

That’s as good as it is going to get.

Locking the door behind me,

Because nobody needs to know.

And repeat. As I walk out the front door, I know I’ll be back here tomorrow.

Same place, Same time.


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