She'll wake up tomorrow.
She'll open her eyes to a cold day fractured by a beam of light dashed across her face. She'll wait there for a minute, grasping onto the last bit of a fading dream. Her eyes will be cloudy.
She'll pull herself to her feet and walk on a trail of sunken footprints. She'll leave her safe haven behind and face a world that refuses to face her. Her heart will be heavy.
She'll keep walking through a landscape of harsh grays and dull reds. She'll shrivel and clasp at her arms to rub out the bite of the air. Her skin will be crawling.
She'll sit for eight hours and let her brain be taken from her. She'll wrap strings around her wrists and forget what it means to be human. Her mind will be empty.
She'll let herself be taken away through the cold of the snow by strangers she calls friends. She'll sit with them in a refuge of light and warmth desecrated by Demeter's poison. Her head will be blaring.
She'll collapse again on her bed and wonder where her day went. She'll wonder where her year went. She'll wonder where her life went. She'll wonder if she lost it or if it was taken from her. She'll wonder where she'd be if she had it. Her eyes will be crying. Her heart will be pleading. Her skin will be dying. Her mind will be screaming. Her head will be tightening.
She'll eye the bottle of sleeping pills on her nightstand and consider how easy it would be to break the endless cycle she's trapped in. She sighs.
She'll wake up tomorrow.