Dear wretched.

Care to hear the same old story? It's the only one they're telling.
You and your rushing around; always got something on your mind,
but it's the same old story, told a thousand times.

She hates this song because it skips a little in the beginning,
taking much longer than it should. This song was her favorite
but now she waits to hear it on the radio. She runs her fingers
over the grooves that identify her, impatiently. Her mind is elsewhere.

"Focus on your lungs now; In, out. In, out.
It'll get easier every time," her mantra, her prayer,
crooning itself throughout her veins, over and over,
bringing life to drifting limbs and heart.

This is your forever story resonating.
Can't you feel it storming inside?