Side to back
Every morning wakes her up with the feeling of imploding chest and ribs cutting the warm, subtile tissue of lungs, destroying the carefully planned highway of the veins.
The eyes barely even see, eyelids burns with salt cracking into the very mild, thin skin, so human starts to remember of the every single cut and injure done in the fragile nude coat on the face. The lower eyelids of the both eyes hurts especially. The throat is so dry. It's hard to breath, also. And to speak. There exists kind of the self-taming barrier inside of her mouth or maybe somewhere else that consumes all the words before they are being said.
The brain considers every sentence, catalyzes, puryfies and distills it as many times as there is no more letter to say.
There is even noone to speak to, though.
At least, everything stays inside the skull, the used nerves, the dark matter builds up the bump in the throat, charges the collarbones.
After the sleepless night, alarm clock wakes her up very early, before the