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Her soul cracked, cheeks burned, eyes swollen with sorrow.  
She saw her cheerful past walking by the corridor, head held high.  
She once bloomed like spring’s lavender, fragile yet vibrant,  
But she never felt it—not even once.  

She had reached a point  
Where her world collapsed into emptiness,  
And her destiny faded to dull, lifeless hues.  
There was no point; nothing made sense,  
Like a deep-fried onion drowning in a pool of oil—  
Too drained to fake smiles or confront her own mind.  

Her insides twisted, soured,  
Like spoiled milk curdling in her morning coffee.  
Her sweetest dreams burned in hellish flames.  
She knew her life was unworthy of living.  

She pined for him, but he was a ghost.  
Her fears drowned her as she searched for herself.  
So, she crawled back to her room,  
Inside the four walls that shielded her from danger.  
She didn’t fear men—only their suffocating presence.  
She bottled her emotions until her veins ran cold.  

The fire inside her was extinguished by unshed tears.  
She lost her dimple, her smile, her glow.  
She stopped believing in heavens—  
They were far beyond her reach.  
She felt like nothing more than a doormat.  

She could fight all the women who wanted him,  
But not the one woman he truly desired.  
She avoided the rain, once her joyful escape.  
Beaches and mountains grew distant, stripped of comfort.  
Her favorite foods and places drifted out of reach.  

She stopped adding mini skirts to her wishlist.  
She no longer cared to heat her food,  
Nor to wear her natural curls.  
She never charged her headphones—or her thoughts.  
Her skin forgot the cool embrace of water,  
And the tender warmth of love.  

She felt less than a girl—less than human.  
She was made a loser by those who stole her aura.  

She transformed into a wallflower,  
Void of power, gratitude, or purpose,  
Overflowing with self-loathing.  
She no longer cried for lost strangers or lonely cats.  
She never wanted to be a mother anymore.  
She lost track of spring and snow,  
Abandoning the rhythm of seasons.  

She stopped trying, learning, or living,  
Afraid that everything she touched would go wrong.  
She closed her eyes, ashamed of her own reflection.  
She stopped moving, ashamed to follow her own shadow.  

She loved so fiercely, she faded into nothingness.  
Free from ache, she felt lucky—invisible, as she was meant to be.
She no longer panicked; her memories were enough—  
Nightmares that fed on hopelessness and pain.  

Smitten with dying, she had nothing left to dream of.  
Even her balding head didn’t bother her anymore.  
She realized she could never fit into the feminine grace she craved.  

Every dawn weighed heavy,  
Like an unrelenting Monday morning.  
Her pillow became her only friend,  
A silent therapist soaking in her sorrow.  
She felt like a cosmic joke.  

The only thing she wished was never to wake again,  
To disappear into the solace of vanishing.  
No miracles could save her.
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