She is emptiness. She is disappointment and cigarettes hiding under breathe mints. She is hollow and resentment resounds, reverberating, and vibrating her core. She is anger and grief. She is mourning and sorrow. She is hopeless nothing to look forward to, not even the promise of tomorrow. She is loneliness and guilt for letting perfect love just sit there and wilt. She is the morning after a night of alcohol. She is the memories she desperately tries to drown in another cacophony of music and sounds. She is depression that she tries to throw to the wind as she throws another handful of pills down her mouth. She is hate and it eats away until there isn't much left to say. She is you. She is me. She is everyone but no one. She is.