Screams splinter her throat
as tears drag mascara down
puffed-up cheeks.
Busted knuckles numb
to winter’s chill.
Trembling lips
whisper a last plea
to (any) god.
Exhausted,
she finds herself
beneath the stars
that illuminate the
dying tree line.
“I’m so sorry trees,
for you have to lose
your loved ones once a year
whereas I can’t get over one
who left me years ago.”
She inhales the hurt
that grips tightly
around her lungs.
Her body caves
over and over.
She’s giving up.
No sign of a life
left to live.
This is the dead
end.
