Psychological Mechanics

she disliked her parents for having given her life. and herself for being too cowardly to undo their mistake. so she drank. such as it is.  because it was a compromise between living and dying. and she wrote. because it proved she was doing both of them and neither.
she'd gone miles. at least thirty she estimated. riding her bicycle was a freedom unique to the endeavor. she could've driven her car, but that wasn't the point. most people ride for the sport. she rides for the distance.

far from home. alone. flirting with stranded. it was where she belonged. lost. it was what she's always been.  as many times as she'd gone back to where she started, she'd never once returned.

lost had and always would be her greatest love. she visited it often. and was many times taken by it.

far was always close. and the deeper she dug into it, the more of it she wanted. a natural born addict for anything that could do more harm.

it's a process. all melting ice and incredulous metaphors. always searching for an irony  that isn't there in life's mundane  tragedies. 

she started walking. there wasn't any choice. not certain where she was. it seemed impossible to get back to where she'd been.

she'd been truly loved only once. and had diligently submitted herself to that glorious deceit. that tenuous fabrication of earnest flesh and sallow mind.

haunted her. resonated in her skin. a gradual poisoning.

it was. all of it manufacturered. from the first breath to the last. a broken mirror solving for when. a parody of depths to measure a delirium of nothing.

she was walking. towing the crippled machine by her side. she envied it. that it could break. that it could be repaired.