Pain’s weight crushes her from the outside, in. A compression that bears down, oppressive and unrelenting on her rib cage. Her loose, shallow breathing interrupts the stillness – the shadow of struggle long gone from her body.
Thoughts of a life that isn’t hers, yet enjoyed by others, taunts her in the darkness of her room late at night.
Insignificant… Pathetic… Meager… Words of diminution. These, along with a host of others, are woven in a literary tapestry to form a weighted blanket under which she suffers.
Devoid of sleep she lies awake forced to confront the reality of her life – all that she is not, little that she is and everything she wished she could be.
Ironic to be suffocated by existence yet truth is often a zealous enemy. When faced both with the course that has been steered and that which is to be navigated, both remain black desolate landscapes to her of endless nothingness.
Is there no relief? No pity? No change?