Work was hard
Everyday seemed harder than the day before
She didn’t mind
It kept her thoughts from thinking about the things she ran away from

Her fingers were bruised from hitting the typewriter
But she liked the constant gnawing pain
It reminded her to breathe, to feel, to feel
Like watering a plant after it is dead, her life seemed pointless

But she couldn’t give up
That was too easy and what would her grandma say
“There’s work to be done – stop dreaming, child”
Except she was no longer a child
And in her head she no longer dreamed
She just screams silently for help for help
She knows will never come