She’s looking up,
At the constellations,
And trying to make sense,
And trying to discern something .

Those stars,
They’re looking down upon her,
Thinking how easy it is to fool her,
How easy it is to help someone in being preoccupied all night,
How all the random thoughts take perfect place in the witching hour,
How overthinking makes her brain dysfunctional but she has to live with it,
Everyday,
Inadvertently,
she forgets the kind of place this is.
Here,
The ones who try, suffer
The ones who don’t, suffer.
This place favours nobody
Every second, it is eating you up.