Damn your face.

I cannot stand your face any longer. It hurts. I have another 20 days to stare straight at it, maybe even more.
Everything is off. Your nose is weird, your eyes are too far apart. Possibly even too close together.
You're an awkward specimen.

The colours in your profile just don't make sense. At least, that is how it appears when I capture a fleeting moment.
And even then, it is still odd. One day, you're yellow. The next, pink. And yesterday, you were a deep, earthy grey.
You have blemishes and scars.
Scars of your past. Physical scars, and mental scars.
I'm sorry for being so forward and brash, and slightly egotistical yet somewhat amused and materialistic.
But this is what media has done to the world, honey.

I have another 20 days to stare, straight at it. Straight into it. Maybe even more.
I want to just break a mirror every time I see it.

To: My face.