She sleeps with a copy of Stephen King's The Shining under her pillow.
The knife was left on the kitchen sink; the gun to her head out of ammo.
She writes, but has no pen to stab with-
just a finger to make herself sick
Reflection screams "I want to be perfect!" and the mirror shut up!
How can she? How can she? She will fight; she'll work for it, she's been working
a new page; fresh - running out, wasted
so much paper wasted already
She writes in the margins, left there for someone to open the book and see