the feelings of self doubt and disbelief consistently convey themselves through her over the course of two weeks, she is imperfect.

the thought of imperfection kills her slowly, as her outer appearance screams perfection, 

she is failing.

she is alone and tempted, 

and slightly wounded...

not yet to be comforted...
she waits.
she misses the old persona that never felt a thing,
her loneliness and pain was hidden under a rock in which she buried deep within the threads of old tshirts and faded jeans.
whats left of her? it is all still there...twisted in the fibers of her inner most being.
waiting to come out.
as her best friend stares in amazement, and he wonders what to do next,
yet his own palms are sweaty because he to, fails her.
he fails to comfort her as she is caving in the midst of her tears...
she is still alone.
and the hugs of a friend cant compete with the unwanted feelings rising up in her gut,
she is shaking
and sweating,
her heart is churning and turning cold and slightly black,
as she is tormented by the conflicts of her mind...
she waits.
patiently,
for it to all pass by...

so whisper sweetly in my ear, and tell me what to do next,
because my head is in the clouds,
and i can't seem to come down.
so get these wandering thoughts out of mind,
before i loose my sight,
for i am bending, yet i will not be breaking.