Everything crumbles,
Everyday is a hustle
Every waking moment
Is a nightmare.
Wishing she could get away,
Just for a day,
Wishes every hour,
Would pass,
In the blink of an eye.
Her problems,
Her issues,
Her tears,
Are running dry.
Her life,
Is like crumbs,
Scattered,
In the dust.
© thelma migue, 2009
Succinct...there comes a time when tears run dry...you harden...
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