Fine Doesn't Always Mean Bad

I put my favorite mascara in the pink tube on my long dreary eyelashes as I look in the mirror that shows me the tired on my face in the morning before I start my day I flip on the light in my painfully dim bedroom to find my clothes and put on my darkest shirt that will always hide me because I want to disappear and I spray myself with perfume that covers the smell of someone who doesn't feel good enough and is pitying herself the burnt worm on the sidewalk in my path to my depressing car reminds me that it is not that bad, and it will never be that bad.