She sits alone in her room.
Only her music comforting her.
She tries to smile all the time, but she always fails.
She skypes her few close friends.
Never to go outside and see anyone else.
Too many people she says.
Too many people she sees.
She sits alone in her room.
Only her music comforting her.
She looks out of her window.
She sees this group of friends.
She thinks for a moment if she should join them.
She doesn’t. She can’t. She won’t.
Only her music can comfort her.
Only her music is comforting her.
She has too many scars, she says.
Too many to show, too many to hide.
She would die she says.
She says.
She says.
She says.
But does she do?
Why doesn’t she do what she sees?
She can’t do anything without feeling regret for doing something she should find morally wrong.
I can’t answer that.
Ask her music.
Only her music comforts her.
Her music holds all her answers.
Music holds everything.
Only her music comforting her.
That she is me.