I tried to write my thoughts. Poems.

Silence

She was silent as always

Looking for a way out that was never there.

He asked her if she was sad,

She replied,

"No, just normal."

Evaporating, Breaking.

Shaking with each and every ending.

And then it was discovered that the most important context to the story was in between the written lines of sight.

And no one seems to ask her questions anymore.

Lying on the floor was just her niche and as her story folded like a paper plane preparing but was always grounded by conscious choice and she never replied to the locals with her vocals while they intercepted all of her signals but chose to wash her down the drain with the rest of their leftovers.

Crumbling, faking.

And in every waking moment she has tried in strife.

A gentlemen, a gentlemen, no more hard-to-handle men.

Writing her life story without a pen.