Am I Beautiful Yet?

To the deafening tune of a punk rock band.
A waterfall behind curtains begins to
Tattoo trails along the ribs in my back.
I'm kneeling in the shower, praying for release;
Eyes closed, tears falling, vomit pouring forth
The pure clarity of the stream is now tainted
With needs, standards, expectations, and blood.
My heartbeat is ever so irregular and my vision
Swims more than my arms as I grasp for the curtains.
I fall.
What's become of me?
Lying in this shower in a pool of bile and blood.
Dearest society, I ask you, am I beautiful yet?