Days and Demons

She walks over days and demons. Life throbs within her and subsides at the walls of her skin. Blank face with an occasional grin, polite and reserved, nothing seems to break her or even move her.
She stands and waits for a train to come and take her home, but she never seems to get on the right track. Everywhere she goes, no body knows of the story she writes.
She walks and sometimes runs past mysteries and worlds. She steps on stone and on words, surrounded by faces and occasional flirts of indecency. Nothing seems to break past the coldness of her stare and seldom speech.
Millions and her single self facing some kind of social mutation, a mutilation of perspective caused by a subculture of misunderstandings and lack of interest.
She knows the force within her sits quietly at the base of her throat. It squeezes itself against the walls of harmless silence.
A voice from within soothes her anxieties and calms her difficulties. She has become so comfortable with the self correcting process of a solitary mind, she has lost the value of interactions beyond herself. Then she looks upwards at a sunny sky and she finds that her love for being alone has become a guilty pleasure undermined by the preachers of collective action and conformity.
The brutal truth is that she has stopped crawling trying to belong. Scraped bloody knees make her alluring as she stands tall in a world of wolves. They smell the trail but that is the closest they will ever be. The moment she got up and walked away, she decided to do it alone.
She walks over days and demons until she wouldn’t have to do it on her own.