Her hands are cold, twisting tightly into fists as her stomach wraps in knots to knock her happiness unconscious. She doesn't know where to stop, and she doesn't know where her last words have dropped.
Probably off the face of the Earth.
She's holding steadfast to the bitterness of her soul that will not release the apathy of where her ambition lies. And alone she cries, deep in the back of her mind because the literal tears that well behind her eyes never fall. And that's all she's got, because the strands of insecurity are slowly entwining onto that noose around her neck.
She's feeling scared, but not because she can't find the truth, it's only because she's feeling lonely for an affection that she doesn't have. Not anymore.
Because they can't seem to look past her scars, and it makes her feel more alone than ever because the immoral boundaries she's set up around herself have caused her to make some walls. And these walls guard her heart, or maybe her mind, it's something she never really defines, but she's not really sure where they are either. And her body withers as the rope wraps tighter to her throat and keeps her less than afloat above the waves.
And she doesn't feel brave, no, not anymore, because the empty crack in her skull has been leaking out her insecurities in a large fashion and it makes her seem complicated to the masses of the men that she wants to hold onto but can never keep on to the stereotypical path to keep the lust overflowing.
She just wants to be loved. And she just wants her heart held in the hands of a little self worth. But from the time of her birth she's been abused by the world that has helped her grow in the shadow of a very large "never good enough" road sign that blocks her view.
And in truth, she has never felt different.