nothing about the weather

Her words split from her contextual intent of sentiment. Sitting as a platter of her age-
she's static. a contrast, regrown to separate; she's got bad habits.
She's proud of her literacy and literally she can't seem to find the commonality between all that her words tell me. her belief of a dramatic final is written because she's over it, there's no more of it.she manipulates conclusively, now an eventuality thats made exclusively to her naivety, shes won the battle, shes written her dark words of pain and the drugs, what shes lost and all that which strains her to unfold and redirect the focus of her motor. 
She's at the seams and her words a vague conjunction and now she can only see a repetitive fight of the emotional process.
Avoids dressing her bed because where its bare comforts her. Shes a gap to the silk stitching of her mattress.
Her thanks disguises on her self political