disparate.

and then reality
broke through
her skin
with the fierceness
of a blade;
and waves upon waves
of self-loathing
and the impracticalities,
the burden
of this depressed life.
her head falls
to the caress
of her sweaty,
oily palms.

how to destroy
this feeling?

these days,
her fingers only
stop shaking
when sleep
engulfs her
bleak, diseased body.
she’s seen
the despair before,
but somehow
this entrapment
is different.
she is a fool
faking the light,
before it attacks again.

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