She takes herself to the very end of her all too accustomed tether once more, been a manic depressive going on then years now – forever there, albeit she would wrestle and tustle these particularly peculiar wits ’til but a walking, rambling mess on medicinal wheels
Appearing relatively right as rain to those who mattered the most
A quick thinker, the ghost of her former self, problems direly uncountable by all known accounts – utterly unsolvable
These people do deserve a winner’s medal, yet no kind of strengthened aside lavishly praised backbone can ever make this acute pain disappear to gloriously go away
Settles on in like the most ungodly of friends – a foe more so, creating the unimaginable hidden glass partition between them and she
And nobody gets to Fucking sees it… lucky sonsacunts
To have, to hold akin to nothing anyone may have ever allowed themselves to experience before
The door may seem to be entirely open to those, although to her it is frightfully, rather agonisingly frozen shut
About to be finally closed
You cannot push yourself to strut when your soul is crushed to dust
She roars to no-one as such, I Never Proposed For Any Of This Goddamnit!!
Her brain will pierce to bleed from all of these needless travails alone, while the rest continues to make irrational sense again ’til stretched to the unfathomable core – why, oh why did it have to play these bewildering tricks on her

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