Acrimony

She detests the feeling of an ordinary life. A life so monotonous, an episode like every other, an experience undergone due to needs, an unknown avenue forced to cross so to meet your expectations.

She refuses to compromise, so excuse her for she fucking hates the idea of having to conform.. So just when she thought she could, she realized she's been horribly leading a life, predetermined, a life of others, a life but hers.

So what if the wardrobe is over-flowing, so what if the shoe rack holds no more leather soles, so what if she owns another item of luxury?

These she owns are, but a campy reality. A reality that mocks her, a maze that traps her, allowing her to succumb to factors undefined.

When life's so trying to force compromise, why can't she fucking be like anyone else, finding comfort in a material life?

Why must there be inner conflicts she cannot resolve, why has she problems identifying herself. Talk, she no longer, just in search of a better way, living a life she really owns.

She came across fear, she confronted him, only to realize her beliefs shrunk in unwillingness.

Depress she was, her world tumbling no further, for there's only this long she can indulge in dysphoria, in mental hell.