her heart is heavy and tear ducts are full
and words don't seem to be her friends today.
she's broken and her spirit is wandering along
somewhere in the deep darkness between despair and apathy.
nothing is as it seems
and there is no hope that it will ever be as it should.
wearing the lies as a facade has become so familiar that when she looks in the mirror
she no longer cares that it's not her own face that she sees.
she is so dangerously close to falling apart.
what is it, even, to fall apart?
what does that look like?
she has trained herself to forget.
how does one let tears flow after years of filing them away
and how does one let the shakiness happen
and the anxiety bubble
and the fears scream out their terrible sighs
her heart bursts open from all of the needles and blades that have been stashed away inside of it
from unkind words from others
and from bashing from itself
and there are not even words that are capable of scratching the surface
of the rock bottom depths
of her pain.