She tries to drown herself with fictional scenarios;

vicarously living her life through those outside of her spinning world.

 

She aches for some stability.

Some thing to give her peace.

 

When she foolishly raises her expectations to those impossible to meet, 

She is met with demolished hope. 

 

On a good day, when accompanied by friendly souls,

She is jovial. 

On a bad day, which is far too often, 

She feels pushed away by the rest of the crowd, of no importance.

 

Her obsession with changing herself to form to her social surroundings has become much of her life's duty;

Hiding her true colors in black and gray.

 

When asked, her immediate response is that nothing is wrong,

Although her eyes give thr truth.

 

She is broken and torn,

But a tattered heart can only be mended so far.

 

If left alone and unnoticed for too long, 

She grows into a state of lethargy,

Only to be woken by the next cycle of the wash.

 

Because much like the wash,

She goes through the cycles of life one load at a time.