Unhappy Girl

The hot, humid morning of July woke her up.
The cool sheets couldn’t contain the fire inside her body
A familiar sensation she’d thought had vanished regained momentum in the monotony of her life.
“I can’t get up, I can’t face it”
She was the product of an unsatisfactory life.
Almost wishing the sun could burn the anxieties accumulated within herself,
blinding her vision to reconcile being at ease.
Her sudden frailty,
withholding the weight of her struggles,
she felt voiceless,
she no longer wanted an identity.
She couldn’t devote herself to the philosophy carried by others,
feeling comfortable and complacent of their daily tasks.
The humid sensation has vanished,
the icy perception of realism invades her once again.
Could she ever resemble that faithful image of feeling pure,
the richness of a life with dreams?
It didn’t matter how enthusiastic she seemed while the sun gazed upon her face,
her fate was sealed at night,
alone.
Hearing the clock ticking
knowing the electric sensation of what is real,
past,
or future
is lost in cold reasoning.
The hot,
humid night of July caught her.
Lost in a valley of words that echo in her tormented soul,
composed of ecstasy and agony.

Photo Credit: Eneas via Compfight cc