Wheels of thoughts in endless whirls, with confusion lingering and continuing its stay. The heart is tugging from her subconscious voices sighing; her spirit at its submerging plummet. The boulders striking her shoulders down, with none's hands to gravitate into. None.

The scent of intimacy and the taste of closeness, all omitted. The bubble to the brim with animosity and grudges, preparing to rupture. If only time was untroubled, in the solitude and quietude, for meditation of agigation and angst, perhaps her Father would outstretch his mercy, more, and shelter her shivering identity.

She gulps down the forsaken waters. She is drowning. Does another escapade anticipate her touchdown?