she writes the things that come to her mind in the middle of the night in bursts of blobs of *******.
the words come spilling from her mouth and it reeks,
like a trash can left unattended for weeks.
she wakes the morning after and reads it back in hopes for a glimpse into her psyche,
but nada.
nothing.  
her brain is a chaotic something that even she cannot make sense of.
her pretty words do nothing to disguise the true mess that lies beneath the surface.
new flowers on an old grave,
the facade
doesn’t mask the decaying body underneath.
the beautiful colors of fall,
failing to disguise the scent of the rotting leaves on the road side.
pretty words from a pretty mouth
with no purpose or meaning.