The ends of her long, long hair were burnt. They were light brown no more, crispy tar colored maybe, but not carefree brown. The flat iron was plugged into the outlet, the foiled insides warming up. She fiddled with pieces of her hair. The ends were splitting and she thought it was pretty at one point in time. The prettyprettypretty brown, she thought. But it had faded, faded like the color in her favorite blouse. The blouse had hung in the sun for too long. She wondered if that was any different.

(her hair had seen too many lost friendships, heart breaks, flashing lights)

The mirror held many things. The picture was wedged between the actual mirror and the frame. The edges weren't tattered with or torn, nothing had changed since the day she stuck it there. The people hadn't really changed either. She couldn't help but know so. The little flicker of happiness in their eyes was false advertisement. Because underneath the pretty, pretty white teeth was a pit of ruins. Her eyes told more lies than the rest.

(she was just so, so, so easy to believe)

Her voice captivated every person that had ever listened to it. The amount of time she could hold a note without taking a breath made them all believe she was something they all wanted to be. Her chocolate eyes were so much of a cliché, people held onto the aftertaste of the alcoholic beverage they hid beneath their thin jacket at one of their concerts.

She was the poster child. Krystal was the reason the friendship lasted for so long in the media. Because behind closed doors everything was falling apart. She thought they were the biggest motherers by the end of a stage and they just wanted their best friend back every single night.

Tucked in the reflection of the mirror was their best friend. But they hadn't been to her house in months and she hadn't realized the glimmer of hope in the corner of everything she looked at.

(maybe it really wasn't there)

She thought about doing something reckless. Like reallyreally reckless. She wanted something that was going to make her heart burst or maybe even cause her insides to propel. She wanted an imperfection or a blemish because her thought process was a total one-eighty from what it used to be.

(we don't play with dolls anymore, soojung.)

She could smell the burning and she could feel the heat flourish her face. The smell rose to her nostrils and she wanted to back away, change her mind, she was sorry. But she didn't. No, because Krystal never backed down, she did what she intended to do, and if it hurt later then why the hell didn't it hurt enough?

The blood dripped from her palm and it all kind of seemed like it had been done before. The blood falling from her wounds, the pain she had inflicted on herself was something she had probably seen in a movie; but burning your finger to a crisp, Krystal?

(reckless, baby)

She wouldn't regret it later because some people from the picture hadn't really changed at all.

She put on a performance and when push came to shove, Krystal shoved back, called you a and walked away. Because Krystal was ed up (or maybe Krystal didn't give a .) The stage lights lit up and Krystal smiled. Krystal smiled because she was a liar. She was such a good liar. Her lies were all over Seoul and stuck up the asses of whatever blog site she could shove them up. She was made of lies. Krystal, the idol, was beautiful and famousfamousfamous.

(and made of pretty lies little girls soon told their parents)

Because everyone wanted to be Krystal. Krystal had pretty hair, Krystal had a pretty name, and Krystal could sing! Krystal could sing, daddy!

But Krystal didn't want to sing. Krystal wanted to curse and Krystal wanted what she couldn't have. Whether she ever said anything about it or not. Because Krystal was a poster child. Krystal went on stage and made them smile and sometimes she would feel a little of their happiness but then it would all be whisked away when she really thought about what she was doing and what she really wanted to do.

(she could have done it all)

She picked up the scissors. The metal was cold to her raw finger because Krystal didn't fix her problems. And when she slid a big chunk of her hair between the blades and pushed the handles together, it was gone. The pain was gone. Because Krystal didn't fix her problems, she found an easy way out. And if an easy way out was cutting her burnt hair, from all those straightening sessions, then maybe she had been right about something.

Her sister had told her that the world was out to get her. Her sister told her to choose her friends wisely. Her sister told her to make sure to smile at the cameras because they were her best friends not silly boy groups or girls with 'once upon a time' faces.

(sister knows best, krystal)

Her breaths were becoming delayed and she thought, 'this is it, this is the end.' A smile crept on her face because it was all so swell. Finally, she had got what she wanted. But when had she ever deserved it?

("no. you don't get to die. not now. you're selfish and you're cruel and all we ever wanted was to be your friend. we could all share the light, there was enough. but you had to take it. you don't get to take this too." the voice wouldn't go away and she thought seriously? Because she had paid her dues and she had done everything she had ever wanted to do. But the voice wouldn't go away and she felt cold hands covering her wrists. And it all felt like it had been done before. Like she had felt it once before in her short time on earth.)

And the voice grew louder and louder and her head was hurting. Their fingers dug into her skin and her finger had never hurt her that bad. They were some type of monster that wanted her to rot in hell.

(you don't deserve heaven or hell, pretty girl)

("we were your friends, we loved you. but something changed and now we haven't talked in months and are you even listening to us?")

She told the voices that they were all monsters. They hated her and the idol world had changed them. What had they become? Lies, lies, lies.

(no krystal, you're the monster)

(smile for the cameras)