She is Changing

the smudges on the wine glass share stories with each line that makes up one print, those prints are held by shaky fingers and clammy hands. one word is sitting on the trigger and when her eyes opened, the loud crackle of the bullet came down on her ear drums. she couldn't see, she couldn't hear, she couldn't feel anything other than the wind that was simply blown out of her. her breaths became unsymmetrical, she became uneasy, and the beings began dancing in her stomach to waves of different depths to new traumas. she was sinking, but it didn't feel as if she was drowning, she wasn't scared as her unsaid phrases drifted to the bottom of her own ocean. why swim when you can roll in the sand at the trench of your own anxious thoughts. she was insecure but not unsure, she meant everything she said and she meant her actions that followed. this wasn't what she had hoped for, but she knew she would have to be okay. trying to be like all the others, with pure smiles that didn't cover her emptiness. the love she was once infatuated with didn't cure her of sadness anymore, tears pooled out; the drought formed cracks in her skin as the rain that poured from her eyes dried. the temptation to throw everything in her sight took over and her arms left her mind without saying a damn word. she was scared, but she, once again, was not unsure. she just couldn't lose anything else. her mind made the simplest thoughts complex and her happiest thoughts darker than the night sky without the moon or stars shining bright. all of those explosions of dopamine became absent, along with the smiles she has forcibly held up with her heavy head. here, with her feet standing strong in her own place, yet she might fall down to her bruised knees making everything seem a little less real than what it actually is. she was shot by a bullet of meaningless words and insecurities that were nothing but useless. her death was nothing more than her own fault. her fault because she didn't have the strength to handle her own, breathe on her own, and love herself on her own. recognizing this now makes life a little bit more okay she thinks. this was the only time she was unsure. being unsure of herself is what has always scared her. those fingerprints will be swept clean and that gunshot of sadness will mean nothing one day, but that day is not today, nor is it going to be tomorrow. she doesn't know when this all will be okay, when her own pure smile will be held proudly on her face. how can you smile proudly when you can barley smile at all? her garden of thoughts has been burned and now she has been left with cracked stone architecture covering her true emotions. 

a black hole was in sight; however, she was unable to see the cold hard floor waiting for her at the bottom. that is, at least, what she had imagined. her legs losing all feeling at the thought of leaping into a new perspective. the fear of change, that keeps a person from changing, is often a lot scarier than the change itself.