Her tears fall night and morning and she cannot draw pleasure from anything in heaven or on earth. Tormented by haunting voices from her past, she is overcome by weariness and yearns for death.

With each sunrise, sunset, she feels the insanity creeping to the edge. Her state of mind is venturing into a whirlpool of chaos, as her face remains expressionless, attempting to repress the millions of thoughts eating away her last strands of strength.

The stars shadowed the nightsky as she laid underneath that lofty, leafy tree, seeking answers, seeking refuge. she wondered if they were all right, if this was really just her being too hard on herself. Definitely not, the superego answered. Every room in the house has become danger zones with each of their own silent blades, the gruelling hours of early dawn eating away her soul.

This has become a starvation of life, of the most fundamental humanistic natures. She no longer laughs, no longer cries, no longer loves, no longer hurts. As stone cold as a marble sculpture, she lingers, she strolls, seeking her misplaced soul.