She walks across the bricked paving, sneakers kicking the sand off her soles…
Her body moves,
a robot rhythm accustomed to its routine,
dancing in a melancholic monotany on the surface of her soul.
Her thoughts race, a stampede of worry and stress,
a collage of ideas that will never leave their shelves,
and a mixed tape of opinions that are hushed in the back of a traditional choir,
She is a cramp in the back of a system that will never change.
A warrior of the loneliest kind,
A tragic past with a brilliant mind.
She enters through the doors of normality and greets its mistress of routine and her merry flock.
Fighting hard to fit in without being them.
Fighting hard to survive without giving in
Fighting hard…
Fighting…
Figh…
This routine wears her down,
It sucks the light from her eyes
That glow of hope,
Replaced with desperation,
Replaced with a decadence so consuming, that the days merge into months, the months into years,
The memories into a haze.
The haze makes it all bearable.
And again…
She walks across the bricked paving, sneakers kicking the sand off her soles…
Her body moves,
a robot rhythm accustomed to its routine,
dancing in a melancholic monotany on the surface of what remains of her soul
