Hazy

She stares at her reflection, seeing the smile that's a little less than what it used to be and a little more what it shouldn't. The smoke from the fires she started billow around her - crowding the small space, sending ash down her throat and soot in her eyes. The fires burn with intensity, never dying down, never giving up, until it's all smoky and grey, and she can't see much anymore. To wave the smoke away is vain; it comes back thicker than ever. 

And everyday, she breaks a little more and more, losing confidence in herself, feeling a little less beautiful and a lot more ragged. She wonders when the jagged edges of the broken glass will slit her throat to let the life free. 

 

Her smile isn't as wide anymore and her spirits aren't so high. The mirror isn't so clear, and she feels like she deserves it all. 

Life gets dull and her eyes get hazy. 

Because her reflection became distorted through all that smoke.