she sits in her room with her hoodie on. with her back turned to the door so no one can see. she bites at her skin .. the skin around her nails and sometimes she makes it bleed. and then she feels bad for biting it but its something like a compulsion and sometimes she cant stop it. most times she cant. she forgets that shes a writer sometimes and every few months she forgets that she can write. thats usually the times when she is doing really well at work. when shes making lots of money serving and is thinking of moving. its usually when she gets her finances straight and when she gets drawn back into the 'cycle of human drama'. its those times when she is ok with the world when she forgets who she is.

she types at her desk and her wrists hurt because she put the desk together wrong and the shelf thats supposed to hold the keyboard a little bit lower than the top of the desk is actually the back of the desk. and the back of the desk.. well she cant quite remember where she put that.

her wrists hurt and her eyes are tired and she feels caged because she cant go outside. she spent a day on the couch just watching movies and thinking about caged birds. then she thought about cliches and thoughts became too much so she just sat on the couch and waited for the movie to end. when that one ended she went out to get another movie and then she sat on the couch again and she thought about caged birds. she shut the blinds because it was so bright outside and the white of everything made her eyes hurt. she liked that the blinds shut made everything easier to see.

she stares at the lamp through her periphery and the whole time she is thinking about how she should get up and turn it off. but just like everything else in her life she just stares at the lamp through her periphery and thinks about how she should turn it off.

she saw a picture of where you both used to go and she started to cry and at that exact moment bright eyes said 'dont you weep'. and for a moment she thought about not weeping because the sheer irony of it all but then she cried and he walked in the room and she wiped her tears. she wiped her tears and the makeup smeared and she thought about how you used to tell her you didnt know how to do eye makeup; that you just smeared it until it looked like you had been wiping your eyes for a while. but she always thought you looked pretty and secretly she always wished that her eyes looked a lot more like yours. secretly she always wanted to be a little bit more like you. this open beating heart that was filled with all this blood. just beating and making everything around you beat the same. secretly she envied the way everyone loved you; the way everyone could see that you really were the most beautiful person this life had to offer. secretly she wished she was a lot more like you.

you are her muse.


secretly. shes not going to make it past this.

shes going to drink this wine with her hoodie on and shes going to think about all the ways she loves you. but instead of coming home shes going to think of evey reason not to and shes going to pull the hood over her head and pretend that shes walking away. the problem is shes walking on a treadmill. shes walking in front of a green screen with a repeating background and a snazzy soundtrack. shes not going anywhere but it sure feels like she is.

the snow is hard for her. she reaches out to movies and dreams and wannabes because she doesnt want to go outside. she would rather sleep than wake up and bring people burgers. she would rather dream all day than to put on an apron. she just wants to pick one. she wants to stop dreaming.. she wants to stop living out of her means. but then who is she.. is she just like everyone else.. or is she becoming the grown up her parents have been waiting for her to be.

she sits in her room and she drinks her wine and she counts the money from the night before and she waits for the chorus of the song on pandora. she waits but it never comes because this song isnt like the rest and she is wondering if she is anything like the song on pandora. and she wonders how much she even likes the song without the chorus but she appreciates the change and she welcomes the anticlimax. she thinks about how this song is probably more like life than the ones in the top twenty and she thinks about how ryan seacrest probably doesnt know a thing.