she always wakes, wide-eyed,
trapped in the soft tomb of her bed
wet with sweat whatever the weather
intrusive thoughts poisoning her synapses.
People cannot understand why she is this way,
she's young and beautiful not old and grey
and the more she tries to think herself better
the worse she feels and only wine
can touch the sides, numbing the pain
she knows she should not experience
yet still dons her mask for the day ahead,
smiles to the world but alluring eyes show
the anguish in her soul...that will not go.