She's half awake, trying to touch things she can't see:
soft and slippery, like Jello, but it's coming out of everything,
nightmares upon nightmares of nothingness, of waking up
crying; this is the life she lives. Waking up cold and trying
to convince herself that "yes this is the life you want to live"
is an everyday occurrence;
saying sorry too much and trying to think, harder, harder, harder,
down into the earth where she belongs. This isn't a drug, this
is real life. Believe it or not, there are more surprises waiting in the
folds and cracks and curves and stains, this is truth. His blue
eyes won't save her forever, it's a nice thought though; she'll hold
onto it, blindly. She can't decide if this is good, but deep down,
she believes it is.