It's a lot like nail polish, she thinks to herself,

staring down through her tears at her black painted nails.

Love too chips away, leaving tiny piece of something that was once whole in its wake.

Each piece is shiny and iridescent, like angel wings,

but also dark and forgotten, like the wicked step-mother in Cinderella.

She bites her nails and reflects that while she flakes off the nail polish with her sharp teeth,

so too did she worry away at her relationship with the white canines of Truth.

Odd that a concept most people use to comfort themselves

could also be the one thing that gnawed apart her love

and broke it into tiny black fragments on the floor,

where even the most observant person could never find them again;

 trampled and shuffled into nonexistence,

just like the nail polish she is slowly scraping off with her teeth,

before spitting it back out again,

unable to stand the acid taste it leaves behind in her mouth.

She thinks that either way, it's all just a pretty lie

used to cover up the old wounds, the bitten nails, the bitter tears.

It's all lies and lipstick scars traced in gold,

shimmering once before fading back to ordinary again.

But then again, maybe nail polish is just a lot like love...