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The words aren't new, the hum just gets louder. Over time the words that once left shallow cuts that could heal, have turned into words that now cut through scar tissue. Leaving wounds that refuse to heal. They are no longer spaced out allowing for time to heal.

Reminders. Reminders of just how broken she is. Reminders she is not good enough. Reminders she holds no value. She is nothing. A mere distraction. Her only value in what her body can offer. But the body doesn't respond to touch alone. Irritation leads to giving in, but giving in leads to more irritation. So what is the point of giving in. If she can't give in what value does she actually hold.

Let the words run cold, allow the numbness to wash over. Pull the words in, to fill hollow spaces. Breathe through it. Fall back to what the doll maker created. Paint on the smile. Breathe, clear the mind. Hollow out the heart. Let the words roll into her, they don't matter. She doesn't matter. Her feelings don't matter. After all dolls are just ornamental objects, they don't have feelings

The storm had been building for years. When that storm finally hit, it was brutal. Thunder of unheard screams, rain of tears that had refused to fall. It raged within her. Lightening striking and setting her soul ablaze. It ripped through her. Destroying everything in its path. Leaving nothing behind but smoldering ash.

The eye of the storm had given her false hope. Hope that it wouldn't be left completely barren. Hope that something beautiful could still grow from the ash. That hope was fleeting as she was hit again by the storm. The storm that carried away the ash. Leaving nothing behind but grit and stones.

Soulless. Hollow. Cracked. She held no value. A broken shell.

Hollow. Empty needing the void filled. Trying to fill that void was only getting more and more difficult. The hollowness held no warmth. Cold numbness was the only feeling left, except for fleeting moments. Those moments were becoming more and more spaced out and were getting harder to hold on to.

The numbness was hard to adjust to. She wanted to feel something, anything. She wanted the distraction. It was exhausting trying to present one way when she felt another. It was well practiced though

Caffeine and nicotine. Thoughts coming and going, fleeting much like the smoke from her cigarette as it dissipates into the night. The coffee brining warmth as the chill of the night wraps around her.

She rolls the cigarette between her fingers ash falling, the brief sting as it hits her thigh. She brushes it away. Soft grit leaving a greyish hue against a pale canvas.

A soft sigh as calm spreads, enveloping her like the blanket of the night

She can feel the prickling behind her eyes. She concentrates on her breathing, slow and controlled. The prickling will remain but so will the trained smile. Concentrate next on the voice. Don't let it fall. Don't let the hollowness come through. Don't let them hear the hurt.

Conversation flows, like a soft hum. She doesn't care to focus, just responds when it's expected. Her mind starts to drift as the conversation drags on. This was the first time in a long time she felt like a doll. She used to use that description more often but until this moment the description had felt like it had been misplaced.

Her mind was still restless and loud. The prickling behind her eyes was still very much present. Yet she could maintain. She could maintain the happy facade. She could maintain the illusion of being okay. She could still be what she was expected to be. She could maintain it all while falling apart on the inside.

A lull in the conversation gives her the out she was looking for. She is met with a pause when she says she is going out for a pack of cigarettes. Understandably so, she rarely ever did so. While she did want a cigarette in the moment, it wasn't the motivation tonight. It was merely the excuse she was using to leave for a bit.

Earbuds in she scrolled through her playlists looking for a specific one. As she stepped out into the cold night she let the music wrap around her. A fleeting moment of comfort in the bitter cold she had just left in favor of the bitter wind the night had to offer