Dreary

Sitting at the edge of her mind's cliff, hunched- back and peering fiercely below, Sattire wonders. A sigh follows, that reverberates against the cerebellum's walls, rocks her shoulders and echos, bouncing back to jolt her upright. The wounds seeping from her eyes were waxed tears that when they fell, sliced her thighs before they ran down her knees, wrapping a tight chain of bitterness around her ankles. Chained, she could not breathe.

Sattire was good at only one thing; letting the wrong people in. To dismantle her doors and shatter her windows, leaving her to get pierced by the shards of broken glass. Now bent and broken, she sits and stares, close to falling off, nothing to catch her but a bouncy castle of regret. Should she leap abound?

Wires become disconnected in her brain, now sparks are flying and the only one getting electrocuted is Sattire. Convulsion! Now heave, breathing exacerbated by every memory of advantage being taken. Ruthless. Same sin as murder, Sattire, the victim cries. Many people should have been a "hi," or "hello." They should not have existed thereafter. They played their game and she was the ball, mishandled and thrown all over. Now there's just no air. Deflated! No one was ever there to catch her, no pump to gas her up with self-worth....so she bounced from hand to hand, with none willing to hold her.

Now the misuse was maddening, Sattire became entrapped. The brain was folding in confusion. Sheer and utter collapse.