Finding little specks of black nail polish in her mouth,
she realized she had bad habits when she was nervous.
She spends most of her time getting high or watching ****—
which she soon realized was a deadly combination.
She's yet to find a genre of music which she feels fits her mood
when she feels anxious, hopeful, carefree and empty all at once,
forming another deadly combination. She can't seem to shake it.
Even more important, she's yet to find another soul which she feels compliments her vertically swinging inspirations.
Triggering thoughts of long car rides, classics, and guilty pleasures get her by if reflections of the past are found loitering rent-free among her highest expectations of becoming and the songs she can't stop humming.