It's past midnight and she can't sleep.

She can't stand the idea
of lying in bed with him
while feeling utterly alone.
If she's going to feel alone anyway,
she may as well actually be alone.

Instead,
she sits against the
cold, brick wall in the alleyway,
her messy hair tangled in the breeze.

She watches as the
far off lighning briefly illuminates
the despairingly dark sky
like flashes of promises that
will never be kept.

Her cigarette stains her fingers 
with the scent of nicotine,
its smoke tying its cursed smell
with her perfume.

She wants to see
the baby-faced moon,
but doesn't have
enough energy to move
around the corner to look.

She was drained.
Exhaustion clung to her
like a too familar coat
that she couldn't
get rid of if she tried.

There was something
melancholy about her,
a haunting feeling of
loneliness and vulnerability
that always made people think
that they could save her.

They never could.

They only waste away themselves
when trying to help,
slowly losing who they were
in the beginning.

Her eyes glisten
in the dim glow of the light
as she remembers all the things
that she has done.

She may as well have
condemned him to
become just like her,
the way she skilfully 
broke him down
without even trying.

Her mind ached
and her heart raced
as she sat there,
staring off,
lost within herself.

She didn't have the 
strength to move,
to object to the thoughts
that invaded her mind and, so,
she sat there,
her messy hair tangled in the breeze.