She sits

Quite and alone

And she wishes

Wishes she had a home

Afraid to leave

She doesn't want to be here

But she has no where else

She's stuck

She cries

In a river of swollen memories

Gripping them with everything she has

Afraid to forget

Were she comes from, who she is

But her tears scream

And her arms bleed

Her heart desires need

She has too much pride to plead

In her fantasies

She plays out the life she'll never have

But in Her reality

She is gone.

AN: I am beginning to think all my poetry is getting redundant, I say basically the same things but a little differently, maybe I should take a break, do you think so?