She wasted no effort
trying to convince herself
the world was hers for the taking.
The call of her lips
basked against mascara
slipping down her cheeks.
She wasn’t one who liked crying —
but she always did.
Much like clouds drifting,
she was of the sky:
she seemed always high,
without fault, without worry.
But too foreign to all,
she weighed too heavily —
for her storm was never
a storm like any other.
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