She doesn’t cry anymore.
She doesn’t scream or vent her heart out.
She doesn’t do anything,
That could relieve the heart of the burden it carries,
All the time.
She wants the heart to tire itself out,
To get choked on its own tragic feelings,
To fall short of breath, coughing up bloody memories.
She wants herself to get cleansed,
But all she ends up doing is,
Waging a lost war with herself.
She has been left nothing but like a corpse,
A breathing and walking zombie.