she falls into her room and screams into the dark
pitching forward until her face hits the rug
and then she screams some more.
hot anguish wells up in her eyes and spills down hollowed cheeks
ineffectual hands claw at the carpet
reaching, grabbing for something real to hold on to in this mess
she knows what's happening.
she recognizes it every time.
because nothing aches quite like a fractured soul.
it hasn't happened in a while...
but it rarely turns out well.
she stands up and contemplates medication
weighing the pros and cons
of masking something real for a false sense of security and comfort.
a sick laugh slips past her lips
as she savors the irony of it all...
sometimes,
she knows she is alive
because she wishes she was dead.
