still bent over on the side
of her bed.
a pan
there.
a bell to ring.
is it monday yet?
who knows.
she waddles to the bathroom
in her bare feet.
avoiding the mirror.
she stands in the shower,
the shower
where she used to sing.
she'd like
to end things, but she's
not sure how.
tomorrow will be better,
she says
to herself
crawling back into bed,
still wet,
now cold and shivering.
tomorrow, tomorrow,
she whispers to no one.
a promise
she keeps putting inside
her head.
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