La Jolla

Her eyes told a different story Than her worn hands. Pupils dilated Loving all who understand. And the sore indentation on the middle finger of her right hand Supporting that she knew words were essential. Proving that the messy explosion on the paper Was not the leaking pen. But the beautiful ideas in her mind. At this point, there are two ways to go. Pull the trigger, skip the breath. Swallow the pills Heading towards death or Eating the meal and waiting. Waiting to approach the end of this dark endeavor. She chooses the second, picking up the pen and scattering her memory Into the compilation of uneven papers.