cubic zirconium

Is spelled exactly the way I thought it was. I wonder whether everybody goes through this stage – where they feel like cheap, fake imitations of themselves. There is still the you, the thing underneath which bleeds, and cries, and needs. But at this moment, all you can see is the imitation. It’s as if you are watching a really bad horror movie and you’re yelling at the girl on the screen not to open the basement door, and yet she does anyways, and whoever the killer-du-jour is just there, waiting. Except that this girl is you. Watching the cubic zirconium you is like watching that movie and, quite frankly, it really sucks.