You can't just dine; It's not time.
Sleep, lines the bottoms of her eyes.
The circles form overnight, deprivation, falsification.
So if her common sense neglected?
It's 'cause something bigger's detected.
She doesn't mind being left behind.
She would rather go slowly to watch the sunset, anyways.
No reason to look behind the smokescreen (there are some things that no one needs to find.)
Look on as she survives another attempt, kinetic in her learning. Pleading guilty in a non guilty crime.
Avoiding awkward by jumping the fence to turn and step.
Can't help the second nature, her reflexes from past experience stay quick-just to hate her.
They taught her well, as she sought to dip-set
(back to her speculum of normalcy.)
Walking down the street, curbing the beat.
Lights flicker in and out; shadow-boxing down the alleyways of her life.  
Her eyes may have welled, only to dry; in the heat of the moment, regrettably she could only, sigh.
The one thing her mother taught her is to never believe in surprise. Collectively she will be waiting for the day and time when she gets hit from behind the lines, life flies by and she is not afraid to die.

"And she will bite her bottom lip all she wants."

Rozbliuto- (noun) The sentimental feeling you have about someone you once loved, but no longer do.


--A weakness spreads through your body as if injected. Your chest is rising abnormally. The breaths you take begin to reign supreme. With every evanescent blink you see how they said "goodbye," and you let yourself walk away. Thoughts reverberate "not to say that you would change it; being for the best".--


The back of your mind stands, opening itself, like the curtains that precede the silver screen.
Half-heartily you allow it open through your chest as well;
breaking through the sternum, like a bad mortician.  
The action forces self-perception, virginal, seeing who you truly are ; intense enough to note how your heart is beating faster and slower, at the same time.
You start falling backwards, if you could only step back through the mirrors that are-now the pupils, maybe your feet would still be touching the ground.
The inanimate objects around the room dance, swiveling.
The goose-pimples rise, bringing a chill you are reluctant to deny.
A cold hollow fills you from the inside out.

(Here you are.)

Uncomfortably content in your own memory theater, still watching the films of your life pass you by, like the hazy cast of a rainy day.
You feel spring turn to summer, fade to fall, curtly the brisk kiss of winter caresses your cheek bones.
Your eyes start welling, although you've decided against closing the lids.

(Try to remain delicate, from now on reality is and has always been imaginary.)
  
Next the "why-not, if-only, and what-if's" start racing around above you.
Forcefully you change the direction of this inter-monologue. An almost automatic response: "Did they not care? They were a lie".

(Now the anger sets in.)

You have a bloodcurdling urge to kick, scream, and punch.

(After all, imagine it as-if you're paying forward what they let you do to yourself.)

Instantaneously, the last grain of sand in the hour glass drops, the distant cousin of Tetanus tightens your jaw, cracking a few teeth..   And a chagrin sweeps your face.





(Your head lifts with the sunrise, you sit up and walk out the door.)

A breath of relief, as the new air fills your lungs.
Heart is still beating.
Brain is all but completely intact.
And nothing was left behind.