She is emptiness.
She is disappointment
and cigarettes
hiding under breathe mints.
She is hollow
and resentment resounds,
reverberating,
and vibrating
her core.
She is anger
and grief.
She is mourning
and sorrow.
She is hopeless
nothing to look forward to,
not even the promise of tomorrow.
She is loneliness
and guilt
for letting perfect love
just sit there and wilt.
She is the morning after
a night of alcohol.
She is the memories
she desperately tries
to drown in another
cacophony of music
and sounds.
She is depression
that she tries to throw to the wind
as she throws another handful of pills
down her mouth.
She is hate
and it eats away
until there isn't much left
to say.
She is you.
She is me.
She is everyone
but no one.
She is.