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There is a deepening void somewhere in her chest.
It's inky darkness poisons her smile,
Breaking it down and reshaping it into something more cruel and lifeless.
But there is a shimmering layer of what is left of her.
It sits at the bottom of that hole, like a fine dusting of sugar on the best sweets.
Happy memories and love and ambition and joy lie somewhere in between,
It tries and tries to push her forward and just barely supplies her breaths.
But every time, without fail, she reaches deeper and deeper into herself to pull out what little is left,
And offers those splintering pieces to be soothe and provide.
They are rarely every returned in good health.
So often, she is left pillaged, burned, brutalized, and diminished
And ready to go again,
To scrape out whatever that is left,
And to display it with broken and bleeding hands to her world once more,
Until there is nothing but a pit where she had once glimmered gleefully and open to the world.