Sitting there, Attempting not to hyperventilate She finds it hard to pace her breathing.
She’s drowning in the rinse cycle of her life
Trying hard to wash the fabric of her existence, Cleanse the stains left behind from previous use, She's doing as she needs to.
But she finds the whole thing disorienting The walls close in She struggles against the very process.
Yet she is fighting.. With every fiber of her being To not give into habit Natural brain chemistry…
Because she knows If she falls apart now: it will all be for nothing All the progress, effort wasted And she wouldn’t have deserved it anyways.
Copyright 2015 Monica Figueroa It's been awhile since I've posted anything. Havent written anything I felt was good in awhile. Still don't but here's to trying again.