She can’t sleep,

can’t watch tv,

can’t eat.

She’s scared

of the day,

of the night,

of what’s to come.

She can’t sleep,

can’t write,

can’t read.

She’s numb

too scared to try,

too scared to succeed.

She stares into the distance,

at the ceiling,

at her feet,

but never returns the glance of a strangers eyes should they meet.

She’s awkward



A mere drift in the right direction,

would that be too much to ask?

She looks down at her feet, and continues her path.