Now is not a place she wants to be

Anguish, quiet

behind her smiles and laughter.

Core hollowed out by trenchant

disapproving stares which she was taught to

entertain–heated displeasure layered so thick, left to

fester, breeding infertile soil as her body becomes its own

graveyard. Her shell,

heavy as stone with imperfections the masses deemed

ill-suited for human consumption. Her

jagged journey back to devotion,

kernels of despair

lurking, promising hints of

madness to strike at anytime.

Now is not a place she wants to be.

Once things fall apart and

powerlessness persists,

quitting seems to be the best option.

Rusted and depleted lungs, but her

screams can still be heard by whomever pays attention.

Tears trickling down dimples

under seemingly bright skies. Life can feel like a

vortex when it’s

winter all year long… even with a

xanax-fuelled brain, her thoughts go

yata yata yata and her nerves go

zip zip zip. (I believe in you.)