Manic Monday

The words escape
her lips, so pale
like the colour of paper
like the fog on a chilly night
Without thought
she allows herself
to drift off for the night

11:11
She still ought to believe
every wish might come true
The good, the bad

Her eyes are tired
like a warrior
fresh from a battle,
like a sleepless soul

Let it end
the words spill out
like blood,
the pain never ends
It is always there
never disappearing.

With a final breath
She lets herself fall
to slumber for the rest of eternity.