The monotony
and yet crushing pressure of life
presses down between her shoulder blades.
There are things to do,
places to go.
She doesn’t care so much, though.
Oh, she lives,
waiting out the days,
counting all the ways
life is slipping through her hands.

Maybe she could regain it
if she just had the will
to go out again,
maybe meet another friend.
But, no.
It’s too hard to smile—
she’ll probably frown.
The stairs are too steep—
she’ll probably fall down.
The water’s too deep—
she’ll probably drown.
Her heart beats a steady, quiet rhythm.
She wakes up every morning, and wonders: why?
Why even bother getting out of bed,
shopping with friends?
What does all of this matter, in the end?
She stares into the wide abyss of life,
looks out at the joyful street, and she retreats.
Why care?
Why dare?
And she turns away.
Her life—
ripping at the seams—
teeming with lost dreams—
harder than it seems.