She places down her coffee and takes a cigarette from the bag with everything else in – her wits have taken the knocking of the century
And her mind has been crying to find a way, some way
There is a handsome fella dressed rather sharply, not too much for once, and he sips from a mug of his own, amazing eyes on him
She imagines his particular mind to be far less addled, rather relaxed for its settled state alone
She’s turned a corner, a really ferocious one, and drips some whiskey from a Christmas mini-bottle in her coffee through the sipper, or whatever they are calling it these days
They could call it whatever the hell they wanted and she truly would not care
She looks at her twisted index finger and realises that she will need to go home at some stage and wash the yellow mankiness away gathered from smoking – soap times ten
She takes a fast swig and tries as she might to let it all wash over her one way or other – her eyes have been constantly crying and she longs, pleads for this prison-sentence to finally end, please God
Her life has been a fucking atrocity at best, plain downright destroyed at worse
Miss. Positive, then
When a personality becomes ravaged yet still beats like peculiar crazy within, and a dress-sense matches its distaste for that feeling of hell on earth
And these other people get to continue on regardless and enjoy their days in a way that she never quite could
She is bitter, envious, and the list goes on and on… and on ’til the mind finds the wrong way once again
She will stare on outside, and he will leave her with the one millionth ‘what-could-have-been’ in her pitiful life, it was something she couldn’t quite pull herself out of and that was her above all else – a woman on a death-wish with so much talent and so very little ability to place it all back together
It absolutely kills her to be a paler, far more muted version of herself, she had to only wonder what people said about her, that is if they even said anything at all anymore
This, ladies and gentlemen, is Damage Control and it is outright barbaric to watch her go through it
Then again, doesn’t something have had to have been together in the first place for you to get to piece it back?
All she ever wanted to do was to listen to The National on repeat, to drink these funnily named Italian coffees, and to make a friend or three crack themselves laughing – the lack of laughter was what hurt the most, she forgets what it feels like
To smile a little herself, while the day takes her constantly away
These dreams are slip-sliding more than ever right now, and what she needs to do is extraordinarily out of reach and only she can know such a thing

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