and again, she writes a boggler...

obstructive thoughts
dismal, outraged,
my own ideas keep behind the trees.
I'm hanging on the branch,
holding on as the wind flies by.

tears whitewash my face
eating the stains off the clothing.
i don't know why,
rainstorms ravish my eyes.
these drops of regret
a surreal reality
that my plastic past
kills.

i try to mold the clay,
but my face won't fit.
i am still stuck here,
on the paper board box
reading:

I'm joyous envy,
do you have rational thought?